


Castle Black Bar

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Castle Black Bar [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Co-workers, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Flirting, Slow Build, bar owner jon, jon is a bartender, sansa is a waitress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 107,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: “Well, if you aren’t sure of anything to do right now, I need some help. I could really use some help. At the bar,” he said and Sansa blinked at him. He began rubbing the back of his neck. “Not behind the bar. But… waitressing. If you think you wouldn’t mind. Business is really picking up and… I was going to put an advertisement in the paper, but I thought I would ask you first. See if you were interested-”“Yes.”





	1. One

…

 

Castle Black Bar is crowded tonight. It always is on Friday nights – people flooding in through the doors for a drink or two (or six) to celebrate the end of their work weeks and the beginning of their weekends.

 

The first Friday night Sansa had worked, she had nearly started crying from the complete ineptness she had felt. She had never been a waitress before and though she had started on a Tuesday, a generally quiet night at the bar and it had been a good night to begin her training, her first Friday at the bar had felt as if she had been thrown into the deep end of the pool before anyone had properly shown her how to swim and no one cared if she drowned or not. She had survived though – she always does, as she likes to remind herself – and now, she no longer dreads Friday nights like she did just a month ago.

 

Now, Friday nights mean one thing for Sansa. Tips. And a lot of them.

 

Castle Black Bar is not a large establishment and they have never had a waitress before Sansa. And now that she has the job, they aren’t looking for another one.

 

Thank Goodness for Jon Snow.

 

Sansa has this thought at least once a day where as before, when they were children, she rarely – if ever – thought of her older brother’s best friend.

 

But then, a month ago, she had come home from King’s Landing, a complete failure in her own eyes and with absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do now with herself.

 

Her dad, Ned, had suggested she come work for him in his office for a bit. Both Ned and her brother, Robb, are lawyers – Stark & Stark – and have their own practice together and while she loves her dad for the suggestion – and she makes sure she tells Ned that over and over again – he already has a receptionist and even though he would never say such a thing, the truth is, Ned really has no need of her in the office. He has plenty of others who can file and research and help him and Robb with their preparations for their cases; whatever those preparations might be.

 

Her mom, Catelyn, had suggested as well that Sansa could come and help her. Catelyn is the President of _Women of Winterfell_ – WoW – and they are always running a charity dinner or concert or bake sale to raise money for one cause or another. Sansa loves her mom and admires all of the work Catelyn does, but Sansa is not a lady who lunches.

 

And even if she was… Sansa is the one who’s life fell apart. She wants to be the one to build it up again and she’s not a little girl anymore. She had learned that well enough during her time in King’s Landing. She can’t also rely on her parents to swoop in and rescue her.

 

Jon Snow has been Robb’s best friend for as long as Sansa can remember. Any memory she has of her childhood, Jon is sure enough a part of it. Oftentimes, Sansa felt like he was more part of the Stark family than she ever was; most times, her siblings certainly seemed to prefer Jon to her.

 

After working as a bartender for a few years and saving up every penny that he could, he bought and opened Castle Black Bar in downtown Winterfell. Sansa had gone to the grand opening with the rest of her family, hugged Jon, congratulating him, and then had gone to get herself a Lemon Drop at the bar.

 

And then, honestly, after that, Sansa didn’t think of him or Castle Black Bar; not until she was home again the next year, a vow of never returning to King’s Landing on her lips and a head aching from not having a single clue as to what do now.

 

Thank Goodness for Jon Snow.

 

Her parents had insisted on having a big family dinner one week after Sansa had come home; as if it was a celebration and that what had happened down in King’s Landing had actually happened.

 

Robb and Jon had been out on the back deck, each drinking from bottles of beer, and Sansa had come outside to throw a tennis ball for Lady, her dog that she had left behind, like the spoiled idiot she had once been – never thinking that her dog would be happy in a city instead of thinking that Lady would just be happy with her – but would never be apart from again.

 

“Is dinner ready?” Robb asked when he turned and saw that it was her.

 

“You could go inside and help and it will get finished sooner,” Sansa quipped in return.

 

Robb gave a grin at that and went inside as Sansa went down the steps. Standing at the edge of the concrete slab patio, she tossed the tennis ball across the large Stark backyard and Lady took off after it, Sansa watching her with a clenching fist around her heart. What kind of person left their dog behind?

 

Since Sansa had returned, Lady had rarely let Sansa out of her sight. Even when Sansa is in the shower, Lady will lay down on the floor of the bathroom, keeping her both company and keeping watch.

 

“I’d try to get her some exercise when I came over with Ghost,” Jon said, suddenly at her side, and Sansa jumped a little in surprise. She had just assumed that he had gone into the house with Robb.

 

Sansa gave him a small smile. “Thank you for that.”

 

Lady returned and threw the ball at Sansa’s feet and then wagged her tail, awaiting the next throw. Sansa threw it again and again, Lady tore off after it.

 

“So, I don’t know if you’ve made any plans for yourself yet, but…” Jon cleared his throat and Sansa turned her head to look at him.

 

She didn’t know why, but he always seemed so nervous around her. Never her siblings or her father. Just her. And her mother.

 

“Have you made any plans yet?” He asked and slowly, he moved his eyes from watching Lady to look at her.

 

“No. Failing out of college kind of put a damper on any plans I had for myself,” Sansa replied and she didn’t mean to sound bitter, but it was difficult to keep it from her tone considering the topic.

 

Jon winced slightly. “You didn’t fail out…”

 

“Yes, because dropping out sounds far more glamorous.” Sansa took the ball at her feet and threw it again. Harder this time.

 

She didn’t want to talk about this; especially with Jon. This was only ever a conversation that would be between herself and her parents and Jon might have been family, but he _wasn’t_ actually family. Not to her.

 

“Well, if you aren’t sure of anything to do right now, I need some help. I could really use some help. At the bar,” he said and Sansa blinked at him. He began rubbing the back of his neck. “Not behind the bar. But… waitressing. If you think you wouldn’t mind. Business is really picking up and… I was going to put an advertisement in the paper, but I thought I would ask you first. See if you were interested-”

 

“Yes.”

 

The answer blurted from Sansa’s mouth before she could even fully process that that was her answer.

 

She had never been a waitress before and she had no idea what being a waitress in the bar would mean, but she did know one thing. It was exactly what she needed right then.

 

And now, a month later, she thinks she’s pretty good at it. At least she thinks she is. She doesn’t think Jon has gotten _too_ many complaints concerning her.

 

She had started on a Tuesday night and that afternoon, she had called him, far more nervous than she ever would have thought she would be.

 

“What would you like me to wear?” She asked, thinking – for some reason – that working in a bar would mean that she would have had to have plenty of her flesh exposed.

 

“Uh,” Jon had stuttered, clearly having no idea what his answer should be. “Whatever you want, Sansa.”

 

She had showed up wearing blue jeans and a sweater and Jon had smiled as soon as she walked through the door and showed her where she could put her coat and purse.

 

That first night, she only broke four glasses – which she thought was quite an accomplishment for her first night ever of carrying a tray of anything. The next night, she broke three, but that hadn’t been her fault.

 

Even in jeans and sweaters, some patrons – not all were creeps, far from it, but there was always an exception – were more than a little excited to see a pretty girl bringing them their drinks. One of those patrons had taken it upon himself to give Sansa a slap on the ass, startling her so much, she dropped the tray holding the three empty glasses.

 

Jon had nearly leapt over the bar, having seen what had happened, and with the help of Tormund, the bar’s bouncer, Jon had shoved the man and his two other companions none-too-nicely out the door.

 

“Are you alright?” Jon had asked, coming up to her, his hand cupping her elbow.

 

Sansa nodded and for a moment, she had trouble finding her voice. “I’m sorry about the glasses,” she then whispered, looking at the broken shards at their feet.

 

“You should have been here during Daario’s first week. We had to empty the ice bin out five times because he kept breaking glasses,” Jon said and his lips produced the smallest smile and Sansa found herself able to smile a little, too.

 

Castle Black Bar – a name that near the end of the night, at least two intoxicated patrons will try to say as fast as they can, over and over again – is small, but Jon’s right. It’s busy and she imagines that Jon makes a nice little profit at the end of each night.

 

There is Jon and the other bartender, Daario, a handsome man who knows he is handsome, and with those two behind the bar, they have more than their share of women coming in. There is Tormund, his post at the door, checking IDs and breaking up the rare fight that breaks out or helping someone into a taxi, and now, there is Sansa, going back and forth between the bar and the tables, ordering and delivering drinks.

 

No two nights are the same, that’s for sure, and it’s something Sansa would never imagine ever doing. But it feels good to be doing _something_ ; something that’s not answering phone calls for her dad or discussing seating charts with her mom. When she had gone to King’s Landing, she had thought that she was embarking on the life she was meant to have – and could never have, living in Winterfell – but being home and working here at the bar for a mere month, she honestly doesn’t know what she would be doing if not doing this.

 

Thank Goodness for Jon Snow.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Snow!” Daario exclaims. “I’m just asking for one night a week!”

 

It is two o’clock and the bar is now empty for the night. Tormund has locked the door and is lifting chairs, turning them up onto the tables so he can sweep, and Sansa is carrying empty glasses to the bar and wiping down each table. Jon and Daario are behind the bar, cleaning up there, and Daario is – once again – stating his case to Jon as to why the bar needs a karaoke night.

 

Jon still has yet to budge on his firm denial of Daario’s request.

 

“I’m not spending all of that money for the equipment to just sit in the corner and collect dust,” Jon gives him what his response always is and he gives Sansa a small smile as she deposits another tray of glasses to the bar and she gives him a smile, too, before turning to go collect more.

 

“Why do you think no one will use it? Do you see how many drunken college girls we get in here on a random Thursday?” Daario continues. “Sansa, help me out here.”

 

“Sorry, Daario,” she gives him an overly-sweet smile. “I haven’t been a drunken college girl for a while now.”

 

Daario sighs heavily and looks back to Jon. “One night. Just one night. Girls can come in, scream their Britney Spears, buy more drinks then they normally would and that’s it. One night.”

 

Sansa keeps her opinions to herself. It’s not her bar. She’s just the waitress and though she thinks Daario’s idea isn’t _that_ terrible – it would be wildly popular, she doesn’t doubt – just the mere idea of drunken people in here, singing terrible songs – off-key and _loud_ – doesn’t sound too appealing to Sansa. It sounds like she’d need to invest in some Aspirin stock, to be honest.

 

She certainly doesn’t say any of that out loud though.

 

“If we do karaoke, can we make sure Britney Spears isn’t an option?” Tormund finally speaks up, guiding the broom around Sansa’s feet as she wipes down the last of the tables. He always starts the night off with a bang, but by last call, he’s quiet and tired. Dealing with a constant parade of intoxicated people can be a bit draining – even for someone like Tormund, who seems to constantly be up for a good time.

 

“What’s wrong with Britney Spears?” Sansa asks him with a smile.

 

“What’s that one song? She’s a star or something and she talks at the beginning of it…” Tormund describes.

 

Sansa lets out a little laugh.

 

_“She’s so lucky._

_She’s a star._

_But she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart,_

_Thinking.”_

Sansa sings and Tormund smirks.

 

“That’s the one. I hate that one,” he says and she laughs again.

 

Turning back towards the bar, she sees Jon watching her and she gives another smile – feeling her cheeks warm for some reason – and his lips twitch upwards a little as she carries the last tray towards him.

 

“What about that?” Daario continues, looking to Jon as Jon and Sansa work together to empty the tray. “We can have Sansa kick it off. Have her sing the first song. Show the people how karaoke is really done.”

 

“No. There is no way that’s going to happen,” Sansa immediately declines, shaking her head.

 

Daario releases a heavy sigh. “You’re just as bad as him,” he mutters.

 

Finished with his clean-up, he heads into the back and a moment later, Tormund, also finished, follows after him, leaving Jon and Sansa the only ones in the main bar.

 

“Thanks,” Jon says, taking the last of the glasses and putting them into the bin to be steam washed. He takes her tray as well so it can be wiped down and cleaned before her shift tomorrow. “Was it a good night?”

 

“Yep,” Sansa can’t help, but smile and reaches into the front pouch of the black apron she wears around her waist, pulling out a wad of money. “I need to count it and then I’ll split it between the four of us.”

 

“No, you won’t. That’s yours. Daario has our tip jar and me, him and Tormund split that. That belongs to you,” he nods towards the money in her hand. “You’ve earned it.”

 

Sansa gives him a smile, still feeling a little guilty as she slips it back into her apron pouch. After all, he’s the one who gave her this job. He’s the reason she has these tips. But she has gotten to know Jon during this past month – better than she has ever known him even when they were practically growing up side by side – and she knows that if she tries to give him some of the money, he still will outright and stubbornly refuse her.

 

Perhaps she can just mail some of it to him.

 

He hands her a clean rag and she takes it with a smile and he takes his own and together, they begin giving the bar top its final rubdown of the night.

 

“Alright, boss, I’m heading out,” Tormund steps from the back room, his coat on and an unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips. “We good?”

 

Jon nods. “Have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

 

Tormund takes the cigarette out of his mouth only so he can take Sansa’s hand and kiss her knuckles.

 

“Good night, Tormund,” Sansa says and continues wiping with her other hand.

 

“One of these nights, love, I’m _not_ going to kiss your hand and you’re going to thoroughly miss it.” Tormund flashes her a grin and a wink and he pops his cigarette back between his lips, ready to be lit as soon as he steps outside. “Good night!” He calls out over his shoulder and then he’s gone.

 

Sansa finishes wiping and she passes her rag back to Jon. “I’m going to go get my coat,” she tells him.

 

“Do you need someone to walk you to your car?” He asks and he asks her every night.

 

Most nights, she tells him that she’ll be alright, but some nights, she nods and he’ll walk her.

 

Tonight, she nods before giving him a smile and going into the back room – Jon’s office with his desk, neatly organized with the bar’s bills and other paperwork. There are lockers against the wall – four lockers for the four bar employees. There is also a couch which Daario is sitting on now, scrolling through his phone.

 

“Who is it tonight?” Sansa asks as she pulls on her heavy blue toggle coat and her white scarf.

 

“I can’t decide. Did you see that little lady with the brunette? She had hair so blonde, it was almost white.”

 

Sansa remembers her. She was beautiful and Daario wasn’t the only man in the bar that night to take notice of her. Sansa had gotten her and her friend glasses of wine. There had been something about the woman’s eyes that Sansa hadn’t necessarily liked, but she won’t waste her breath in telling Daario that.

 

“She gave me her number before she left,” Daario continues. “Maybe I’ll give her a call. But then, there’s always Beth… Decisions, decisions.”

 

“I don’t know why Beth puts up with you,” Sansa says.

 

“Because she’s madly in love with me,” Daario says with a grin and Sansa likes Daario – he’s always been nothing, but nice to her ever since Jon introduced her to him and Tormund and said that she is the new waitress at the bar, but sometimes, she wishes she could just tell him how big a pig he treats women – especially Beth Cassel.

 

It’s obvious to anyone with two working eyes in their head that Beth _does_ madly love Daario and would do just about anything for him. And everyone knows Daario is having too much fun as being a bartender in one of Winterfell’s popular bars and doesn’t want to be tied down to anyone. Sansa imagines that that’s the only reason Beth allows herself to be Daario’s “booty call”. It’s the only way she can have him.

 

Tonight isn’t the night though. She’s only been here for a month. She’s only known Daario for a month.

 

Maybe when she’s been here for two months, she can say something to him.

 

“Good night,” Sansa says as she heads out of the office.

 

Jon is waiting for her, leaning against the bar, and when he sees her come out, he gives her a smile and she smiles in return.

 

“Ready?” He asks, standing up straight.

 

Sansa nods and they walk down the hallway, past the bathrooms, to the bar’s back door. Jon always has her park in the back, right next to the door so she never has to walk far at the late hour. Sansa wants to always ask if he promised her parents and Robb that he would do little things like this for her, but she never does because in the past month, she has begun to realize that this is just what Jon does.

 

They may not have been close growing up – at all – but since she has started working at Castle Black Bar for him, there has been the slightest shift between them. At least, on her end, there has been.

  
Jon Snow is just a genuinely nice person. A good guy.

 

Sansa knows that he’s always been like this, too, and she hates herself just a little bit for having never taken any time to notice before she started working here.

 

Jon opens the back door for her and she unlocks her car, walking her right to the door.

 

“Get back inside. You don’t have a coat on,” she tells him as she opens her door and slides into the seat.

 

He smirks a little at that. “Good night, Sansa,” he says.

 

“Good night, Jon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow,” he echoes and then closes her door for her.

 

He stands there, keeping guard, watching over her, until she pulls out of the parking spot and she gives a final honk and wave before she turns the corner into the alley that runs alongside the back of the bar.

 

As she drives back home – where her father will be asleep in his recliner and he will say that he wasn’t waiting for her even though they both know that that was exactly what he was doing – Sansa gets the feeling that has slowly been building inside of her for the past month. It’s a feeling she’s never had before.

 

She can’t wait to go back to work tomorrow.

 

Saturday nights are also excellent nights for tips and she doesn’t care what Jon will say. She _will_ be splitting tomorrow night’s earnings with him even if she has to shove them into his pocket herself.

 

…


	2. Two

…

 

It has taken her awhile to get used to her new schedule, but Sansa considers it to be the new normal because for her, it is. She gets home around three in the morning, she and Lady are sound asleep in bed by three-thirty and she’s awake the next day by eleven or twelve. She then proceeds to shower, eat breakfast – she loves breakfast and will eat it no matter the time – and still have plenty of normal business hours to run errands. If Catelyn is home for the day rather than running around, doing one thing or another for WoW, she and Sansa will spend their day together.

 

Her father and other family returns home, promptly at five, and Cat has dinner waiting and Sansa will be able to enjoy time with them before she has to report to Castle Black Bar for her shift, starting at six. Jon has told her more than once that as long as she gets there before the real rush of the night, which usually begins at eight, she doesn’t have to be there right at six, but in the month since she has begun working there, Sansa has yet to be late by even one minute.

 

Jon was nice to give her a job when she really needed one.

  
The most she can do is be on time for her shift.

 

Saturdays are a little different. She still wakes up around eleven or twelve and takes a shower, scrubbing off and cleaning herself up – thankfully, there is a no-smoking in bars law in Winterfell so she doesn’t have that stench to worry about – and getting out again, she changes into a fresh pair of sweatpants and long sleeve tee-shirt, her lazy day clothes, and leaves her hair damp and down, letting it air dry. Having run all of her necessary errands the day before – getting her hair trimmed, picking up the sweaters from the dry cleaners that she can’t just toss into the washing machine here at home – now, Sansa plans on spending the few hours before she has to get to work blissfully doing nothing.

 

With Lady on her heels, Sansa heads down the stairs, planning on going straight into the kitchen to fix herself some breakfast and then vegetate with her laptop for a while. She needs to check her bank account to make sure that her check from work had been automatically deposited last night since Fridays are pay days even though every other Saturday when she checks, of course her paycheck has been added.

 

She honestly doesn’t know when Jon sleeps. He’s always the first to arrive and the last to leave and on top of running and managing a bar, he deals with all of the bills and ordering _and_ doing payroll as well.

 

When he asks how she is, she makes sure to _never_ say that she’s tired. She doesn’t have a right to be, she feels. She’s just the waitress – in a job she knows Jon created solely for her – while Jon does everything else.

 

Sansa needs to tell him one of these days just how much she admires how hard he works for his bar. Castle Black Bar is successful because of him.

 

She just doesn’t know if they’re “there” yet. Yes, they have gotten closer over the past month – closer than they have ever been – but it’s only been a month and sometimes, he still seems so nervous around her – never meeting her eyes for, what might be considered, too long and sometimes, their fingers will touch when one is handing the other a glass and Jon will quickly pull his hand back as if she has somehow burned him. She tries not to act hurt by it. She knows she’s not Robb or Arya – or even Bran or Rickon – and Sansa knows that those are the Stark siblings he prefers. Just because he gave her a job, it doesn’t mean that they have to be best friends now.

 

And yet, Sansa wishes… she honestly doesn’t know what she wishes, but she wishes for _something_.

 

“And she’s doing alright?”

 

Sansa can hear her mother’s voice in the kitchen and something about the question makes Sansa stop before entering as well. She already knows that _she_ is the topic of discussion. She quickly, gently, grabs Lady by the scruff of her neck so Lady doesn’t go trotting into the kitchen and blows her cover.

 

“She’s doing great.” That’s Jon answering. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, to be honest.”

 

Sansa feels a blush blooming across her cheeks from those words. She knows Jon really means that and isn’t lying. She doesn’t think Jon Snow has ever lied and even if he does, he certainly wouldn’t do so to Catelyn Stark. Jon is probably more nervous around Cat than he is Sansa; though Sansa comes in a close second.

 

“And she seems happy to you?” Cat asks next.

 

Sansa is pressed against the wall so she can’t see Jon’s reaction to that question, but Sansa knows what her own reaction would be and if her mother had just asked that, Sansa would blink at her as if not understanding. She imagines that Jon actually does have that reaction because Cat continues.

 

 “Ned and I are just worried. We see her and we talk and she seems perfectly fine, but still… we worry.”

 

Sansa finds herself completely still now and nearly holding her breath, awaiting Jon’s answer.

 

“She wouldn’t talk to me about anything,” Jon responds.

 

“I know,” Cat says and Sansa can imagine her mom nodding her head and maybe patting Jon’s arm. “I just… she truly seems happy to you?”

 

Sansa wonders why neither her mom or dad have asked _her_ whether or not she’s happy. She thinks she would have quite the insight into her own happiness, but she knows why her parents don’t ask her. Sansa has always wanted to do nothing, but please everyone around her; especially her parents. She will tell them that she is happy because she knows that that is what they want to hear.

 

But the thing is… she _is_ happy. She really is.

 

She’s a waitress in a bar and Jon Snow is her boss and she never imagined anything like this for herself, but this is what her life is right now and it’s not glamorous or even really exciting. It’s simple and _calm_ and honestly, this is all Sansa wants right now; and it might be all she wants for a long while.

 

And maybe that’s why her parents are wondering whether she’s really happy or not.

 

For her entire life, Sansa had wanted to move South; King’s Landing, specifically. The fashion capital of Westeros and of civilization, as Sansa would say often. She imagined all of the people and the bright lights of the city and she had known that she was meant to live down there; not here in the North. And as soon as she graduated from high school, she moved down to the South as quickly as she could.

 

But going South and living there, it had been nothing like what she imagined it would be and she had returned to the North three years later, defeated and ashamed and feeling like a complete failure.

 

She doesn’t blame her mom for asking Jon. After all, who would _ever_ think that Sansa would be happy, being a waitress in a bar?

 

“I know she has no reason to, but if she’s ever unhappy, I hope she’ll be able to tell me,” Jon says quietly.

 

Sansa feels a lump in her throat that she doesn’t necessarily understand and she does her best to swallow it down. She releases Lady and the dog instantly goes trotting into the kitchen, Sansa following behind her.

 

Jon is leaning against the counter, sipping from a mug of coffee, and Cat is standing at the island, stirring something in a mixing bowl.

 

“There you are,” Cat smiles warmly upon seeing her. “Guess what I’m making for breakfast.”

 

Sansa peers curiously into the bowl and then gasps. “Waffles?!” She practically squeals and Cat laughs as Sansa throws her arms around her mom’s shoulders in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!”

 

Catelyn doesn’t make her waffles often. She says that she doesn’t want to make the other breakfast foods jealous and that’s because Catelyn’s waffles are one of the most amazing things in the entire world – at least according to her husband and children. With her making them today, it makes sense why Jon is here.

 

Jon gives her a small smile and moves a step to the side as Sansa opens the cabinet next to his head and pulls down her own mug, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the maker on the counter.

 

“Don’t you ever sleep?” She asks, only half-teasing, but actually quite curious, and with him next to the refrigerator, she watches as Jon opens the door and takes out the container of cream, handing it to her without having her to ask for it or get it herself.

 

She wonders how he knows how she likes her coffee, but then she reminds herself that he practically grew up here alongside her. It isn’t so strange that he knows how she prefers her coffee. After all, she knows that he likes to drink his black. Of course, if she hadn’t know that, straight black for Jon would be a good guess.

 

Jon shrugs at her question. “I get a good seven or so hours a night,” he answers. “It helps I don’t have to go too far every night.”

 

She smiles a little and after stirring in the cream, she takes her first sip. Jon lives in the flat above the bar and Sansa sometimes envies him for that – nights when she’s so tired, she’s not sure she’ll be able to make the drive home before falling asleep or after it’s been snowing for hours and she doesn’t feel like driving to work. Sometimes, on the quiet nights at the bar – usually Tuesdays – Jon will bring his dog, Ghost, down from the flat and the dog will usually sleep on the floor behind the bar with Jon or Daario or on the couch in the back.

 

Sansa doesn’t tell Jon this because she has a feeling that he would completely overreact, but whenever Ghost is in the bar with her, she feels safe. _Not_ that she doesn’t feel safe already. Castle Black Bar doesn’t cater to the more dangerous type of character that other bars do and between Jon, Daario and Tormund, Sansa knows that she is quite safe. But still, there’s something about having Ghost there to add to her security.

 

She thinks about her second night working at the bar and the patron who had slapped her on the ass. Sansa knows that if Ghost had been there, he probably would have ripped the man’s throat out. She hardly knows Ghost and yet, he seems as concerned over her safety as his owner.

 

She has wondered more than once if Jon has told his dog to especially look out for Sansa while he’s with them, but she’s always shaken the thought off. She’s Jon’s employee. Of course he doesn’t want anything happening to one of his employees. He probably tells Ghost to look out for Tormund and Daario, too.

 

They hear the front door open and then slam shut and a few seconds later, Arya bursts into the kitchen, completely drenched in sweat, fresh from her cycling class. Sansa had gone with her sister once to a cycling class and afterwards, had vowed to never attend one again. Give her yoga classes instead. Yoga is far more relaxing and soothes her mind more than pounding music and a yelling instructor ever could.

 

“Waffles!” Arya gasps when she recognizes what Cat is mixing in the bowl at the island. “Jon!” She then exclaims, sounding just as excited to see him as she does for waffles.

 

She then rushes to him as if she hasn’t just seen him three days earlier at the bar and despite her sweat and Jon’s cup of coffee, Arya hugs him tightly and Jon laughs, hugging her, too.

 

Sansa steps away from them so she’s not in their way. She’s often felt that way while around Jon and Arya. They have a close relationship with the other that Sansa has never had with either of them. Sansa suspects that perhaps, Jon and Arya like one another more than either are willing to confess and Sansa wishes that she was close to either of them for one to confide in her.

 

But no. Jon and Arya have people in their life they would talk things out like that with before even thinking of doing the same with Sansa.  

 

“Do you need any help, mom?” Sansa asks, going back to Cat, and Cat smiles because Sansa has always been her helper in the kitchen and is always the first of any of her children to ask her if Cat needs any help.

 

And as she helps her mom with the rest of the family’s late breakfast, Sansa wonders why she seems to be trying so hard to ignore both Jon and Arya. There’s no reason to ignore them and pretend that she can’t hear their talking and Arya’s laughter and there’s certainly no reason for the knot – tight in her stomach.

 

That’s probably confusing her more than anything.

 

…

 

“You okay?”

 

Sansa looks over her shoulder to see Jon lingering in the doorway of the office, his face creased with concern.

 

“Sure,” she does her best to smile even as she physically wrings her hair out in the small sink Jon has in the corner and keeps her eyes set on her reflection on the mirror hanging on the wall about it.

 

But of course she’s not okay. The bachelorette party has been trying, to say it as kindly as possible. Eight women, all loud and rather rude and despite getting married in two days’ time, the bride-to-be has obviously been undressing both Jon and Daario with her eyes. Not to mention that they have ordered dozens of drinks, having Sansa scurrying back and forth between their table and the bar the whole night and only leaving two dollars in a tip for her for the whole thing. And then, one had “accidentally” lost her grip on her margarita, drowning Sansa in it. Sansa doubts that there had been anything accidental about it.

 

For some reason, none of the woman in the party have seemed to like Sansa much. Sansa has no idea why though. She doesn’t know any of them and she’s been nothing, but friendly to them – as she is to everyone.

 

“Honest, Jon.” Sansa turns to face him and sure enough, just as she expected, he still standing there, watching her and still looking all worried for her. “It’s just a bit of margarita. Not acid. It’s my fault for not wearing my hair up tonight.”

 

He is still looking at her and doesn’t say anything to that and Sansa finds herself lowering her eyes first. He’s looking at her with an intensity that she’s used to – Jon seems always so serious and intense – but tonight, she thinks that perhaps, she’s just in the mood for anything intense.

 

She looks down to her sweater and does her best to not sigh. It’s one of her favorites – a black cashmere turtleneck sweater that is so soft and warm and she loves how she feels when she wears it. She just doesn’t feel pretty. She feels _hot_ and Sansa honestly rarely ever feels like that. People have been calling her pretty or beautiful for her entire life, but rarely, have they ever called her hot. That word always seems reserved for women who have something that Sansa just can never seem to obtain for herself.

 

But when she wears the sweater – tonight with her hair down and a pair of skinny blue jeans – it shows the tiniest sliver of her stomach and she feels hot.

 

Right now though, it’s damp with spilt drink and this is one of the sweaters she had just picked up from the dry cleaner’s the day before. It seems like she’ll be taking it back again first thing on Monday morning.

 

She doesn’t mean to – especially in front of Jon when he’s looking at her, a mixture of intensity and worry – but Sansa looks down to her sweater and she releases the tiniest of sighs.

 

“I’m going to go upstairs and get you something else to wear for the rest of the night,” Jon says.

 

“Jon, stop,” Sansa says, her eyes flying back up to look at him. “Stop babying me. It’s fine,” she snaps.

 

“It’s not fine, Sansa,” Jon is frowning now. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable for the rest of the night.”

 

“I’m fine,” she snaps again and it sounds like that is becoming her theme song for the night.

 

“Fine,” Jon nearly growls and without another word or look at her, he turns and leaves the office.

 

And as soon as he’s gone, Sansa releases a sigh as if she’s deflating. She’s really _not_ fine, but she doesn’t want Jon to know that. So she has a bit of drink in her hair and on her sweater. She refuses to be the girl anymore who cries over a spilt drink.

 

She runs her fingers through her hair, trying not to grimace, and she’s going to have to take a shower as soon as she gets home tonight rather than waiting until the next morning.

 

She waits another moment before following Jon. He’s already back behind the bar and Sansa picks her tray back up from where she had left it on the bar minutes earlier. The crowd that Saturday evening is steady. It’s not too insane, but it’s by no means slow. Thankfully, the bachelorette party has left and Sansa goes to the group of three that is now sitting at the table they had been occupying.

 

“Can I get one Stella, one vodka martini with an olive and one whiskey sour?” Sansa asks one of the guys when she comes back to the bar with the order.  

 

“Sansa, here,” Daario says and just as Sansa turns her head to look at him, he dumps a twenty dollar bill onto her tray. “From that party,” he explains.

 

Sansa frowns down at the money and then lifts that frown to Daario. “They didn’t leave this for me.”

 

“No, they didn’t, but they should have.” He grabs two bottles of beer for two customers, popping the tops and sliding them towards them, taking their money in return. “What?” He asks when he notices Sansa still looking at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Just take the money. You earned it. They were complete bitches and may the Gods help that man who that woman is marrying.”

 

Sansa lifts her eyebrows at that. “Are you actually calling a group of _attractive_ women bitches?” She asks.

 

“Anyone who treats you like they did is a right-bitch in my book,” Daario replies. “Now shut up.”

 

Sansa smiles at that and takes the money from her tray, slipping it into her apron. “Thank you, Daario,” she says, gracious. “I… _thank you_. And I’m sorry for anything insulting I’ve ever said to your face,” she then says with a smile.

 

Daario barks a laugh out at that and begins mixing a drink for a new patron who has come to the bar.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says her name now and he’s just setting her last drink onto her tray. “There you go.”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says, but leaves the tray on the bar as she looks at him across from her. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know that you were just trying to help and I took my bad mood out on you.”

 

Jon looks at her for a moment. “It’s fine,” he says though she feels like it isn’t; maybe in Jon's opinion, but not in hers. “I just…” he clears his throat. “It’s just important to me that you don’t regret working here.”

 

Sansa’s eyebrows furrow together at that. “I won’t. I could never regret working here, Jon,” she tells him truthfully. “Working here is one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

 

As soon as she voices the thought out loud, she expects Jon to not believe her. He’ll shake his head or maybe he’ll channel his inner-Arya and roll his eyes – though Sansa has never see Jon Snow roll his eyes in all of the years that she’s known him. Still, he spends so much time with Arya, maybe she’ll begin to rub off on him.

 

But when Sansa says that to him, Jon doesn’t say or do anything. He just stares at her – as if he’s waiting to see if she’s the one to start laughing, letting him know that he’s an idiot if he actually thought that she meant that. So Sansa stands there and doesn’t say anything else or do anything either.

 

She means what she just said and she wants Jon to know that she means it completely.

 

Jon is the one to speak first. “I like when you wear your hair down.”

 

That might have been one of the last things Sansa expected him to say, but it makes her smile nonetheless.

 

“Even when it smells like a margarita?” She asks and she finds herself only partially teasing. For some reason, she really wants to hear his answer.

 

Jon gives her a little smile. “Especially then.”

 

Sansa feels her cheeks warm from his words and those intense eyes of him set on her and she’s grateful for the low lights of Castle Black Bar so he won’t be able to see the flush across her face that she can feel.

 

With a small smile towards him, Sansa takes her tray of drinks and carries it to the appropriate table.

 

That tight knot has returned to her stomach once again, but this time, Sansa doesn’t know if she wants to ignore it even though she knows that she probably should.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all of the reads, kudos and comments you have given this story so far!


	3. Three

…

 

All Sansa ever wanted to do – ever since she was a little girl – was be a fashion designer. She wanted to make her own clothes and have her own fashion line and have her own fashion shows and have celebrities and models wear her dresses and have her name be known by everyone in the industry and beyond. She studied fashion magazines and sewed every day and for Christmas, it became a tradition for everyone in her family to get either sweaters or scarfs or dresses – she made her mom a new one every year – from her.

 

She had her entire life mapped out. She would attend fashion school in King’s Landing, get an internship at one of the fashion companies in the South, work her way up, meet important people and make connections and she would present her first line by the time she was thirty. It was all she had ever wanted and it was the only life she had ever imagined having for herself.

 

Fashions between the North and South are different; always have been and that is due mainly to having very little in common in climates and surroundings. The designers originally from the North who went South changed their design aesthetics to fit the much more popular and fashion-forward Southern regions and the designers from the North who stayed in the North aren’t famous or popular in the least.

 

When Sansa went South, she vowed that she would be a Southern designer. If she was going to go South, to the fashion capital of Westeros and make it her home, it would only make sense that she would design Southern fashions. The North may have been so much larger, but there are far less people and the South, in Sansa’s childish opinion at the time, was the center of the whole world.

 

For three years, Sansa was a star student and her professors told her again and again how much promise she showed. Her best friend in school and who shared many of the same classes, Margaery Tyrell, put in a good word with her grandmother, Olenna Tyrell, one of Westeros’ biggest fashion designers with one of the most premier fashion labels, _Highgarden_. And after Olenna saw some of Sansa’s clothes and designs, she had told her that she was very much interested in interviewing Sansa for _Highgarden_ once she had graduated.

 

Things were going exactly how Sansa had always dreamt they would.

 

But… the truth was, she was missing home. The North. Badly. Her family, Lady, everything that made North home. She was happy in the South – she thought she was anyway – and yet, after three years, she still felt as if she didn’t really fully fit in. No matter how long she lived there and wanted to so desperately be a part of there, she knew she couldn’t. Her father had told her;  told all of her siblings too many times.

 

The North will always be a part of them.

 

Each semester, those in the fashion department held a fashion show that showed their newest designs. Sansa decided to try and ease her homesickness by putting it into her clothes for that semester’s fashion show. Long sleeves, high neck collars, long skirts. It was not well received – to put it mildly.

 

“Mumsy”, “Matronly”, “Clothes for Nuns” were just a few of what was used to describe the clothes.

 

“Perhaps I was mistaken about her,” Sansa overheard Olenna tell Margaery after the show.

 

Sansa’s future in the fashion world went up in flames with just a few dresses.

 

Within two weeks, after all of that hard work, Sansa dropped out of school and returned to Winterfell. She has never considered herself a quitter at anything, but the fashion world is hard enough to break into and the road to success is paved with designers who didn’t make it. And despite everything, Sansa began to wonder if fashion was really for her or not.

 

She still wonders that.

 

She’s been back home for nearly three months now and she hasn’t touched her sewing machine in all that time.

 

…

 

Castle Black Bar is closed on Mondays and is open for a few hours on Sunday. Jon always tells Sansa that she doesn’t have to work Sundays. There nearly aren’t enough customers to warrant a waitress and the customers they do get, they can carry themselves to the bar to order their own drinks, he always tells her. Daario doesn’t work on Sundays nor does Tormund. On Sundays, it’s just Jon and Ghost.

 

And like Jon has told her before that she doesn’t work Sundays, Sansa can’t seem to help, but come in anyway – usually around seven in the evening, after family dinner.

 

“You don’t have to pay me,” Sansa always tells him when Jon opens his mouth. “I’ll just work on tips.”

 

The fact is, she _likes_ working at the bar and she likes working on Sundays when it’s just Jon and Ghost. She tells herself that it’s because it’s quiet and it’s an easy few hours to work and Jon being the only one working along with her has absolutely nothing to do with it. Why should it? Jon is Jon. He’s a part of the family even if he may not actually be a Stark. Everyone else in her family certainly loves him as if he’s a Stark and Sansa does not deny how stupid and awful she was for never giving him a chance before.

 

So he makes her smile and gives her stomach knots. That’s just because he’s nice to her and gave her a job when she truly needed it and had been completely lost as to what she should do know that she was home. She’s grateful towards him and that’s all it is. Jon certainly doesn’t see her as anything more than his waitress or the sister of his best friend. Sansa thinks of the way Jon has no problem with hugging Arya or talking and laughing along with her. Sansa can’t imagine Jon ever being that comfortable with her or liking her in the same way that he likes Arya. _Not_ that Sansa wants him to like her.

 

Every Sunday evening, the Starks have a Sunday family dinner together – a chance for them all to be together at least once a week since Robb no longer lives at home and Arya is attending university and lives on campus. And once everyone is done eating and everyone helps Cat clear the table, Sansa tugs on her shoes and grabs her coat and Cat comes from the kitchen, holding a plastic container in her hands.

 

“For Jon,” she tells Sansa. “I have no idea what that boy eats.”

 

Sansa smiles as she pulls on her gloves before taking the container of leftovers. “He’s made it this far,” Sansa points out to her.

 

“I was thinking tomorrow, we could do some shopping,” Cat suggests.

 

Sansa pauses. “Shopping for what?” She asks and hopes her mom doesn’t think she’s rude because that’s not Sansa’s intent.

 

That’s another thing that has changed. She’s just not in love with clothes like she used to be. She still wants to look nice, of course, but she doesn’t buy copies of fashions magazines every week anymore. She is almost like Arya now. She knows what she likes to wear and what she feels comfortable in and when it comes to shopping for new clothes, Sansa just tends to go into the store, gets what she needs and then leaves again. Very rarely now does she find herself browsing.

 

The dresses from _that_ fashion show are hanging up in the back of her closet; still zipped up in their garment bags. She still hasn’t shown them to anyone; not even her parents. She knows her family has already seen them. They were featured in the university’s newspaper along with coverage of the rest of the fashion show and the photos were available for viewing online. The real story though had been how one of the most promising students in the fashion department could muck herself and her career up before it could officially begin.

 

Arya had threatened drive down South and burn the fashion department’s building down and Robb, Bran and Rickon had all been in agreement and had readily volunteered to help her and despite being a lawyer, Ned hadn’t advised against it and Cat, even though she was the one to tell them all that they would do nothing of the sort – not that Arya really _would_ go and burn a building down – Sansa could hear that even her mother wasn’t as firm as she usually was.

 

“I’m looking for new curtains for the living room and maybe some new throw pillows for the sofas,” Cat said and Sansa did her best to not sigh with relief.

 

“That sounds great. I might want a new bedspread,” Sansa gives her a smile and Cat smiles in return before leaning in and kissing Sansa’s forehead.

 

Sansa sometimes wants to ask both her mom and dad if they’re disappointed in her; disappointed that she came so far only to drop out, but she can never bring herself to form the question. She’s too terrified of what she thinks their response will be.

 

“Alright,” Robb says, coming into the front hallway, zipping up his coat. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

 

“You’re coming?” Sansa asks and Robb just gives her a look as if wondering why she was even asking that.

 

“Me, too!” Arya exclaims as she hurries, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

 

Cat gives Robb a look. “Make sure you get her home in one piece,” she tells her oldest.

 

Winterfell’s legal age for drinking is eighteen and Arya is already considered to be quite cool in her dorm because she actually knows someone who owns his own bar. Sansa thinks Jon should run special student nights at the bar, but unlike Daario and his karaoke, she doesn’t want to suggest things to Jon. It’s his business and his bar and it’s doing well. Maybe he thinks he doesn’t need anything special to draw people in for their drinks.

 

“Me?” Arya gapes at their mother. “You should be saying that to _me_ about _him_. Everyone holds their alcohol better than Robb.”

 

“For that uncalled insult, you can walk there,” Robb tells her before heading out the door, Arya on his heels.

 

Cat sighs and gives a look to Sansa that makes Sansa purse her lips together so she doesn’t giggle. Cat smiles then and leans in, kissing the side of Sansa’s head.

 

“Have a good night at work, dear,” Cat smiles. “Keep an eye on your brother and sister,” she then whispers and this time, Sansa does giggle.

 

…

 

Castle Black Bar has a pool table in the back and that’s where Robb and Arya set themselves up, both ordering tall glasses of Guinness and telling Jon to keep them coming. Sansa knows that Jon will only give them two each though before evaluating their sobriety and thinking of giving them their third.

 

There are a few other people in the bar that night, but they are the calm sort – little groups sitting at tables, laughing and talking as they drink. No rowdiness or overly drunken behavior. And as per usual on Sunday nights, Sansa isn’t necessarily needed. The groups are just drinking beer and will come to the bar themselves when they need a refill of their pitchers. Jon also has an old-fashioned jukebox and right now, it seems like someone has fed the machine enough change to play The Killers “Hot Fuss” album in its entirety.

 

“Alright. I think I’m ready,” Sansa says after studying the notecard in front of her for a few minutes. She then slides it back towards Jon so she can’t look at it again.

 

Jon gives her a small smile. “You sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” Sansa nods her head despite the bundle of nerves building up inside of her. “Ask me anything.”

 

“Alright. Make me a gin and tonic,” Jon says.

 

Sansa releases a breath. That’s easy enough. She can definitely make him a gin and tonic.

 

This is another reason why she likes coming to the bar on Sundays. It’s quiet enough for her to stand behind the bar with Jon and for Jon to show her how to make drinks. She’s not sure if she wants to become an actual bartender, but she thinks knowing how to make a few things will hopefully be useful to Jon someday. Maybe Daario will call in sick – or Jon will be sick for that matter – and Sansa will be able to help and lend a hand.

 

She wants to be as helpful and useful as possible. The last thing she ever wants is Jon regretting hiring her. She knew she grew up, a bit on the spoiled side, but that’s not her anymore and it’s more important to her than she can admit that Jon doesn’t still see her as some spoiled princess.

 

“Gin and tonic,” she murmurs to herself as she gathers everything she needs. Gin and tonics are actually quite easy to make. She has no idea why she is feeling so nervous. She can do this. She looks to Jon. “Stop it,” she frowns.

 

“What am I doing?” He asks and it’s obvious that he’s doing his best to keep from smiling.

 

“I’m not going to mess up. You don’t have to watch for it,” Sansa informs him matter-of-factly.

 

“I don’t think you’re going to mess up. I’m just watching you give yourself a pep talk. It’s adorable,” he teases and without thinking, Sansa reaches out and smacks him in the chest, making Jon laugh. Actually laugh.

 

“Stop it,” she tells him again.

 

And with that, she begins making the drink, murmuring the ingredients to herself, doing everything as slowly and carefully as she can. Two ounces gin. Four ounces tonic. And one lime wedge. Easy as that.

 

Just as she finishes it up and she hands the drink to Jon for him to try, the door opens and Beth Cassel walks in. Sansa smiles at the sight of Daario’s sometime girlfriend. She likes Beth. She is pretty with waist-length curly auburn hair and a slight body and sparkling green eyes. She’s nothing like Daario in that she leans a bit towards the quiet and shy side, but Sansa believes that that’s how they balance each other out.

 

She wishes, for Beth’s sake, that Daario would realize that for himself, but Sansa keeps those thoughts to herself. Daario and Beth and their relationship is none of her business.  

 

“Hi, guys,” Beth smiles at them both as she approaches the bar. Ghost comes trotting up to her, wagging his tail, and Beth smiles down at the dog, giving his ears a quick rub. “Hi, Ghost.”

 

“Hey, Beth,” Jon greets as she slides up onto a stool. “What can I get you?”

 

“Gin and tonic, please.”

 

“Here you go,” he says and places the glass down in front of her of the drink Sansa has just made. “I just tested it with a straw. I didn’t drink from the glass or through the straw. Sansa makes the best gin and tonics in Winterfell,” Jon then smiles at Sansa.

 

Again, Sansa feels her cheeks warm at Jon’s words and she’s grateful, not for the first time, for the lighting in Castle Black Bar.

 

“Thank you,” Beth smiles at them both and slides a few bills across the bar towards Jon. He turns to ring the drink up and put the money in the drawer.

 

“Jon!” Robb shouts from the back. “Another Guinness!”

 

Jon releases a sigh and Sansa lets out a soft laugh and Jon looks at her.

 

“It’s easy for you to laugh. You’ve never had to cut your brother and sister off,” Jon informs her. Sansa just smiles and it looks like Jon is going to smile, too, but he turns before he does and leaves from behind the bar to head back towards the pool table.

 

Sansa isn’t even really aware that she’s watching Jon walk away until she hears Beth laugh.

 

Sansa’s face explodes in a blush and she quickly turns her head away, looking back towards Beth.

 

“I don’t blame you,” Beth says with a smile – not a teasing or mean smile; but one of warmth and understanding. “If I wasn’t seeing Daario, I would be guilty of watching Jon Snow walk away, too.”

 

Sansa’s fairly certain her face is on fire now. “It’s not like that,” she all, but mumbles as she begins wiping down the area where she had made the drink. “Jon’s… Jon.”

 

“Jon is Jon with a wonderful bum,” Beth says.

 

“Beth!” Sansa exclaims with surprise. “How strong did I make that drink?” She then wonders.

 

Beth just laughs and takes another sip from her glass. A man comes up to the bar with an empty pitcher and Sansa takes it from him, filling it from the Heineken tap before carefully sliding it back towards him and he returns to his table. Feeling something nudge against her leg, Sansa doesn’t look to see that Ghost has returned to behind the bar and she drops a hand, stroking his head as she continues wiping with the other.

 

She does her best to not look towards the back of the bar where Robb, Arya and Jon all are. It seems as if Jon is questioning their sobriety, with Robb and Arya both trying to prove to him that they are not drunk by hitting a ball with a cue on the pool table. Both fail miserably at it.

 

As always, Jon looks handsome tonight in his dark jeans and black Henley shirt that stretches across his chest and around his arms. Sansa wonders if Jon realizes that he looks handsome every night and she wonders if he’s aware that so many of the bar’s female patrons come just so they can interact with him. Sansa then wonders why on earth it took _her_ so long to realize how handsome Jon Snow is. Not that it matters now even if she does know. Not when Arya throws an arm around Jon’s shoulders and Jon smiles, putting an arm around her waist.

 

Sansa quickly looks away again. She can’t have Jon see her looking at him and she certainly can’t have Arya seeing her looking at him. Sansa loves her sister. They may have spent most of their lives, not getting along, but that had been then and this is now. Both have grown up and both are closer now than they ever had been. Sansa doesn’t want to ruin that for anything and if Arya and Jon like one another, Sansa needs to stop looking over at Jon even when she’s certain that no one can see her doing it. She won’t do that to Arya and give her sister reason to hate her again.

 

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asks Beth. “You never come in here if Daario isn’t working.”

 

Beth has just taken a sip of her drink and pauses to smile. She does her best to smile, but Sansa notes immediately that it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I had asked if Daario wanted to come over tonight for dinner, but he already had plans with someone else. I just couldn’t stay in my flat and had to get out for a bit.”

 

Sansa doesn’t know what to say to that so she just gives Beth a small smile and turns to wash her hands after finishing with bestowing love and affection upon Ghost.

 

She doesn’t know how Beth does it because Sansa knows she certainly would never be able to do it herself. To be in love with a man who always seemed to be on the lookout for perhaps something better than her. She doesn’t know how Beth’s heart can handle it.

 

She won’t ask because it’s certainly none of her business unless Beth – or Daario for that matter – confide in her and make it her business.

 

All she knows is that if Beth says that she’s happy, Sansa has no reason to doubt or question her. If she says she’s happy, no one knows better than her.

 

Sansa hopes that people will extend the same courtesy to her when she tells them that she is, in fact, quite happy and believe her when she says that honestly, she hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

 

…

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/25820319238/in/dateposted/) Inspiration for Sansa's "mumsy" Northern dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning for the entire next chapter to be Jon and Sansa. Also, I am wondering if I should add Jon's POV to this story. Thank you so, so much for the reads, comments and kudos. I love this story so much and am glad you seem to be enjoying it!


	4. Four

…

 

At first, working in a bar was just a way to pay for his books and his classes. To save money, he remained living at home with his mom and he tried to help out as much as he could with the finances though Lyanna Snow would refuse money from her son more times than actually taking it.

 

And then, as semesters went on, Jon realized that he was actually pretty good at slinging drinks. Damn good, if he was the sort to ever toot his own horn. But he wasn’t so he didn’t.

 

But not only was he good at being a bartender, he found that he actually really loved it, too. The owner of the bar he worked at, Mormont’s, took a shining to Jon and Jeor Mormont began showing him other things – how to balance the books, how to place orders to replenish their alcohol, how to run the bar past pouring drinks. And Jon found out fairly early on that he was both good at and loved that part, too.

 

“You can do this, you know,” Jeor told him once night as Jon sat at the computer, entering that days’ totals.

 

“Do what?” Jon asked without looking away from his work.

 

“Run a bar. Own your own one of these days,” Jeor said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his fingers over his stomach. “Have you ever thought of what you’re going to do once you get out of college?” He asked.

 

It definitely wasn’t the first time Jon had wondered that himself, but that didn’t mean he was any closer to an answer than he ever was. The truth was, he had no idea. He still didn’t know why he was going to college other than doing it because it made his mom happy. She had never gone herself and she felt like going to college would lead Jon to have some sort of golden life she could only dream of. College wasn’t for everyone and Jon knew that was the case with him, but he signed up for classes with each new semester – a hodgepodge, really, scattered across through business courses, math, history and sociology for good measure. He’d be graduating with a degree in general studies because despite all of his different courses, nothing had immensely interested him.

 

If he didn’t worry so much about disappointing his mom, Jon would have honestly been more than happy to drop out after his first year. It would have saved him some money, that was for sure. He wasn’t like his best friend, Robb, who knew from the time he was ten that he wanted to be a lawyer.

 

But Jeor’s comment made him pause. _Could_ he do this? Run a bar? Own one of his own someday?

 

 _Did_ he want to do this?

 

He had barely finished asking the question to himself before he was already answering. Yes. Yes, he did. For the first time in his life, he was able to look into his future and the picture was no longer blurry in front of him and he kept repeating Jeor’s words in his head. _You can do this_. He could, Jon agreed. Why the hell not?

 

“Won’t you be worried about training your competition?” Jon asked with a slight smirk towards the man.

 

Jeor smiled. “No. I’m just about out of here. I’m going to sell the bar, take the money and retire somewhere warm and with very little people.”

 

Jon just smiled at that and continued with balancing the accounts. For someone in a customer-service driven business, Jeor didn’t seem to like people all that much. Of course, Jeor had been running his own bar for so many years now, Jon wondered if he would become like the man when he was older, doing this for a while.

 

Jeor ran a “serious” bar, as the man, himself, liked to say. Straight forward with no frills or anything extra and people knew that. They came to drink their beers and eat their peanuts and watch sports on the televisions.

 

But Jeor never got the chance to retire. He sold the bar, but very soon after, he passed away from a heart attack. At the luncheon after the funeral, where Jeor’s sister, Maege, had asked him to be a pallbearer, a lawyer had approached Jon, saying that he represented Jeor’s estate and could he come to his office the next day? He was listed in Jeor’s will.

 

Feeling nervous about going to a lawyer’s office, Jon asked Ned to come with him and sitting there, the lawyer informed Jon that Jeor Mormont had left him all of the money he had received from selling Mormont’s. Ned asked to see the paper and look it over himself as Jon sat there, completely still.

 

“All of it? What about his sister and his niece?” Jon had managed to ask.

 

Jeor had always spoken with great affection in regards to Maege and Maege’s daughter, Lyanna.

 

“Mr. Mormont has made sure they are taken care of,” the lawyer assures him. “He was very clear though that he has a few stipulations from you if you take this money.”

 

“What stipulations are those?” Jon asked and he found his chest beginning to burn. He began to hope… he tried to get himself to stop.

 

“With this money Mr. Mormont has left you, you must agree to open your own bar,” the lawyer said. “And he also said that you are not allowed to name the bar after him in any way.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Yes,” Ned answered for the lawyer, smiling a little as he passed the paper towards Jon so he could see for himself that this was all very real and true. He pointed to the bullet point and when Jon saw what it was, he began to break out into a smile; almost laughing.

 

_“No special cocktail nights, no ladies’ nights and no karaoke nights.”_

…

 

Last call is one o’clock, but the bar is empty by then. Jon and Sansa poured Robb and Arya into an Uber an hour before with Sansa promising that she would drive Robb’s car back to their parents’ home and now, with the bar officially closed, it is just Jon and Sansa as they clean up from the night.

 

Jon stands behind the bar, cleaning and wiping and doing his best to stop watching Sansa as she wipes down tables, lifts the chairs up, and then goes to get the broom to sweep the floor. But Jon already knows. The harder he tries to get himself to stop watching every move Sansa Stark makes, the more he just seems to watch. He’s grateful that she never seems aware of it. If she _ever_ finds out just how much of his nights Jon spends, standing behind the bar, watching her, she’d quit on account of him being a huge creep.

 

Offering Sansa a job had been both one of the easiest and hardest decisions he had yet to make when it came to the bar. Easy because he knew he would be helping Sansa when she needed it and hard because if she accepted, he would be spending six days of the week, for hours upon hours, with Sansa Stark in his life. 

 

He hasn’t always had a crush on her. Honestly, for years, Sansa had just been Robb’s sister. Jon was always aware that she was beautiful, but it was that beauty that made her seem completely unattainable to Jon. Most times, Jon saw her and she didn’t even seem real to him. She carried herself with an elegance Jon didn’t have himself and a sophistication Jon didn’t understand. She wasn’t snobby. She just wasn’t like her siblings – always more than ready to roughhouse and roll around in the mud.

 

He dated – though he didn’t date girls with red hair because although he didn’t have a crush on Sansa, seeing red hair definitely made him think of her and he just figured that would be too weird – and Sansa had a couple of boyfriends throughout high school; boyfriends who Robb loved to grumble about, never thinking that any of them were ever good enough for Sansa and Jon always agreed with him – silently to himself.

 

But three months ago, Sansa returned after being in King’s Landing for the past three years and it was like Jon was seeing her for the first time. Suddenly, she seemed like she actually existed. She is still beautiful – so damn beautiful, Jon can hardly stand it most times – but now, she smiles and talks to him and she’s an actual person now to him instead of just a passing by figure – always just past his reach of ever really knowing – he only was aware of because she was the sister to his best friend.

 

Sansa has been working at his bar now for a month and Jon likes to think that maybe, they’re friends now, too. He likes the idea anyway. He has no idea how Sansa views him. Her boss? Her brother’s best friend? Maybe (hopefully) something just a bit more than that?

 

Jon stands behind the bar each night and each night, he watches Sansa as she works – smiling and talking and laughing with the customers as she takes their orders and delivers their drinks. And when she comes to the bar, she is still smiling and Jon has to remind himself that grazing his fingers along her hand or tucking a loose strand of her red hair behind her ear is a really, _really_ bad idea.

 

After all, technically, she is his employee and if he touches her in any way and it is not welcome, Sansa can slap him with a lawsuit so fast. And she’ll definitely quit then and he’ll never see her – or the rest of the Starks probably – ever again.

 

It’s better and safer for him and for everyone if he just keeps standing behind the bar, just _thinking_ about her soft skin beneath his fingertips rather than actually touching it and finding out for himself how soft it is.

 

“Was it a good night?” He asks her as he always does in one form or another when she finishes sweeping.

 

Sansa nods and smiles. “A very good night. I perfected the art of making gin and tonics.”

 

Jon smiles, too. “Better than Daario, that’s for sure,” he agrees and she laughs softly.

 

Jon swallows and turns towards the register, emptying the till. It’s best if he doesn’t think of Sansa Stark’s laugh. It’s not the first time he’s told himself this, of course, but he can never get himself to remember it. Sansa is his waitress and even if she wasn’t, she’s still Robb and Arya’s sister and Robb and Arya are two of the best friends he could ever ask for. He can’t ruin that by letting them know he’s panting after Sansa. And with this new friendship he and Sansa are building between them, Jon doesn’t want to ruin that either.

 

He takes the drawer back into the office and he can hear Sansa following behind. He’ll count and deposit the money in the bank tomorrow morning. For now, he spins the dial on the safe and crouching down, he puts the drawer away safely inside. When he turns back around, he sees Sansa sitting at his desk, carefully emptying the tip jar and beginning to straighten out and count the bills and coins dropped in that night.

 

Jon plops down on the couch across from her. Ghost hops up beside him and Jon scratches behind his ear. He pretends to be completely occupied with his dog and _not_ with watching Sansa from the corner of his eye. He’s not looking at her red hair or the blue sweater she’s wearing that matches her eyes perfectly and make them seem to pop from her pale face even more or the way her fingers delicately handle that money. He’s definitely not thinking of imagining those hands on him, fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt as she perches that perfect body of hers on his lap right now as they both sit on this couch.

 

He looks at her – and the faint circles under her eyes that he knows he only notices because he’s memorized her face by now – and he’ll never be stupid enough to ever tell her this, but she looks a little tired.

 

He clears his throat and sits up, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees.  “You know you don’t have to come in and work Sundays, Sansa,” he says and she stops counting out the money to lift her head and look at him. “Daario and Tormund get two days off. You should, too.”

 

Her brow furrows a bit as if she is trying to figure out what he’s saying and she’s quiet.

 

“Oh,” she then says and there’s something about that one simple word and the way she says it that makes Jon think that he has just messed everything up when that’s the furthest from his actual intent.

 

“No, Sansa,” Jon moves himself until he’s sitting on the very edge of the couch cushion. “I _like_ you coming in and working and I like showing you how to make drinks. I just…” she’s still looking at him and he sighs heavily, looking down to the ground for a moment, trying to think of how to word this right. “You don’t have to keep proving anything to me. You’re amazing at your job and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t need you to work yourself to the bone because you think you have to.”

 

Again, Sansa is quiet and Jon lifts his head to look at her; finding that she’s still looking at him.

 

“But what if I like working here as much as I can?” She asks him.

 

Jon admits that he doesn’t have an answer to that. He knows it’s because he’s never thought of that. When Sansa came back after being away in King’s Landing, he knows that she didn’t know what to do with herself. He had offered her the job – surprised when she accepted and even more surprised when she only flourished in it. He was guilty in thinking that Sansa Stark would _never_ be a waitress. But even though she really is good at what she does, Jon admits that he had thought – more than once – that there is no way that Sansa will stay, being a waitress, for any period of time. A few months and she’ll be back on her feet and she’ll turn in her notice to Jon before moving on to doing something far more glamorous then delivering drinks.

 

“You…” he pauses and looks at her. “You like working here?” He then asks.

 

“I’ve told you that before,” she reminds him.

 

“Yeah, you have, but…”

 

“You haven’t believed me,” Sansa finishes for him. She sighs softly then and he wants to ask her what she’s thinking, but then, he sees her shake her head slightly to herself and she looks down to the money, finishing counting it up. “Here we are,” she says and she is smiling as if the past few minutes haven’t happened.

 

Jon stands up to come to the desk, picking up his pile of the tips. “Thanks. Is this even?” He then asks.

 

“Of course it is,” she says, standing up as well, slipping her share of money into her jeans pocket, but he doesn’t believe her. For some reason, Sansa is always trying to give him parts of her tips even though she works and earns her tips as much as the others.

 

Without thinking about it, Jon reaches a hand out and his fingers gently circle around her wrist. “Let me see your tips,” he says.

 

“No,” she instantly refuses, a smile tugging at her lips. “They’re the same as yours.”

 

“Sure. I believe you,” he says and she laughs, making his lips quirk into a smile. “And since they’re the same, you won’t mind letting me see.”

 

“Jon,” she says, tugging on her arm so he will let go of her wrist, but he won’t, and she laughs again. “Just so you know. You’re being _slightly_ ridiculous,” she informs him.

 

“Only slightly? Damn. I was going for completely,” he smiles at her and Sansa keeps laughing.

 

He knew it. Her skin is as soft beneath his fingers as he’s always imagined it to be.

 

He’s very aware that he’s flirting with her right now and he wonders if Sansa knows that, too, or if she’s telling herself that Jon Snow would never flirt with her; would never cross that employer/employee line.

 

But she’s smiling at him, her eyes looking into his, and maybe, _maybe_ , Sansa Stark wants him to flirt with her. Maybe she wants him to let go of her wrist so his hand can creep up her arm and touch her face. Maybe she wants him to kiss her and wrap his arms around her and hold her against him as he learns her mouth.

 

He stares at her and doesn’t say anything and Sansa keeps staring at him and slowly, her smile fades from her face. Jon visibly swallows and he looks down to her lips before back into her eyes. He wonders if he’s imagining it, but he will bet his entire bar on it. Sansa leans forward. Just the barest centimeter. But she definitely leans her face in just a little bit closer in towards his. She’s looking into his eyes and Jon knows he’s not imagining it. She licks her lips with the tip of her tongue. It’s quick and if he had blinked, he would have missed it, but he _hadn’t_ blinked and he _hasn’t_ missed it.

 

“Sansa,” he whispers her name then because it’s the only word in the entire world he wants to say right now and he begins to move his own head in closer to hers. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss-

 

But hearing him say her name, it is like as if it is the thing that snaps Sansa out of it because she quickly pulls her head back and when she pulls on her arm again, Jon lets go of her wrist.

 

“I need to get going,” she says quickly and without looking at him again, she brushes past him, making sure that not a single part of her touches a single part of him.

 

Jon swallows and turns to watch her as she opens her locker and puts her coat and scarf on. “Sansa,” he says her name again and it sounds like he really needs a drink of water. His heart is racing in his chest, pounding so loudly in his ears, he wonders if Sansa can hear it.

 

“I have to go,” she says and she won’t look at him anymore, but he can hear the slight tremor in her voice as if she’s seconds away from crying.

 

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out and he can’t believe he was holding her wrist and staring into her eyes and staring at her lips and imagining taking her right here on his desk.

 

He’s upset her with it all. She’s going to quit. She’s going to tell Robb. She’s going to leave.

 

“Sansa, please, I’m sorry. So sorry,” he says. “Please. I didn’t… I’m sorry I did that and made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have touched you. I was just… I was just playing around.”

 

The words feel bitter and wrong, coming past his lips, and he wonders if Sansa can hear the lies. Of course he wanted to touch her and it might have started as playing around, but the instant he touched her, the blood had begun churning in his veins and all he had wanted to do was keep touching her.

 

Sansa glances at him and he hadn’t been imagining it. Her eyes are definitely watery and Jon hates himself.

 

“I…” she begins to say and she fiddles with her car keys in her hand. “I’m going to tell Arya. She has a right to know and I don’t want to keep anything from her.”

 

Jon frowns. “Arya?” He repeats the name as if maybe he hasn’t heard her correctly. “Why would you tell her?” Is she going to tell Arya so Arya can kick his ass instead of Robb?

 

“She’s my sister,” Sansa says and she’s looking at Jon as if she doesn’t understand why _he_ doesn’t understand.

 

But he doesn’t. He’s completely lost right now.

 

“Sansa,” he begins to say and he takes a step towards her, but Sansa hurries to the door and without another word or look towards him, she’s gone.

 

A few seconds later, he hears the back door open and then close again and it’s just Jon and Ghost and the only sound Jon can still hear is the pounding of his heart.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who are loving this story. I am having the best time writing this one!


	5. Five

…

 

Sansa tosses and turns all night and is amazed that she is actually able to get a couple of hours of sleep at all. She’s thankful that the bar is closed on Monday and she doesn’t have to work today. But even then, when her eyes open and she sees that it’s only nine o’clock, Sansa pulls herself out of bed nonetheless.

 

She can’t linger in bed no matter how badly she wants to just bury herself beneath the covers and forget all about the world that is still outside her bedroom. She has to talk to Arya today. She has to tell her… or does she? Maybe there’s absolutely nothing to tell. Was Jon _really_ going to kiss her? He had said it so himself. He had just been playing around.

 

Sansa refuses to think of how much it had stung when he had said that.

 

No, she has to tell Arya. Even if she and Jon hadn’t actually kissed, the way he had looked at her – the way she knew she had been looking at him – a kiss was definitely going to happen and isn’t that just as guilty? Whether it did or did not happen is just a mere technicality. Arya likes Jon and Jon likes Arya. Sansa knows that neither have seemed to admit their feelings to the other and neither have made the move yet, but Sansa is not blind. She sees the way the pair act while around one another and Jon and Sansa _almost_ kissing is something Arya definitely deserves to know, in Sansa’s opinion.

 

But _why_ had they almost kissed? Sansa wonders to herself as she stands beneath the hot water in the shower. If Jon has such feelings for Arya that Sansa knows he does, why had he been standing there, looking at Sansa like a boy who wants to kiss a girl? And how awful of a sister is she for wanting Jon to kiss her?

 

All of these questions are beginning to hurt her head and it’s still too early to give herself a headache, but Sansa can’t get herself to stop thinking about what had transpired between herself and Jon in his office the night before. She had _wanted_ Jon to kiss her – and that is something else she is also trying to figure out.

 

For so many years, Jon has just… he’s just been _there_. Robb’s best friend and someone her siblings preferred being around; Sansa spending much of her childhood feeling as if she was so different from all of them and because of that, she found herself on the outside looking in. She knew her siblings preferred him to her and if they could have, they would have gladly traded her in so Jon could be their real sibling rather than her.

 

Now that they are older, the Stark siblings are all closer than ever before and Sansa loves them and she knows that they love her, but still, there’s always that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that perhaps they only love her because they’re family and they _have_ to. Jon though… Jon and her might have had little to do with one another while growing up, but now, Sansa considers him a friend and he’s so nice and such a good person – genuinely good – and Sansa finds herself looking forward to seeing him every night at work.

 

She doesn’t think she’s jealous that Jon has feelings towards Arya – it’s not the first time in her life that someone has preferred someone else over her – but standing in the office the night before with Jon, having Jon staring so deeply into her eyes with his own eyes, she watching as they grew darker, and his fingers gently around her wrist, she had found herself hoping that Jon Snow would kiss her.

 

It’s been so long since she’s had a genuinely good guy look at her like Jon was looking at her. Actually, Sansa’s fairly certain she’s never had a _good_ guy look at her like that. The guys in the South, she had thought they were good before they turned into something else entirely.

 

Maybe she was just aching for something she’s never had, but has always dreamed of having for herself.

 

Sansa can still feel the slightest flutter in her chest as she thinks of how close she and Jon had been standing.

 

She takes the time to dry her hair, deciding to leave it down today, and after brushing her teeth and applying the faintest amount of makeup, Sansa leaves the bathroom and heads back into her bedroom, Lady on her heels. Closing the door behind them both, Sansa makes the bed and then stands in front of her closet, keeping the towel tight around her. She doesn’t know what to wear. What does one wear when they have to tell their sister that they almost kissed the guy that said sister has a crush on?

 

After another few minutes of debating, Sansa decides on jeans and a sweater, which has become something of a uniform for her since returning home.

 

The house is silent and there is a note in the kitchen left for her by her mother. Cat has had some WoW business to see to that morning and then she’s going to stop at the store to pick up something for dinner. Sansa goes to the refrigerator where her mother has a massive calendar hanging of the Stark schedule. Today, Bran, a senior in high school, has a debate club practice after school. Rickon has soccer practice. Sansa does not have work tonight. And Arya has a nine o’clock Anthropology class and then nothing until two.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to have to do it now.

 

…

 

After parking in the guest parking lot next to Arya’s dorm, Sansa continues taking deep breaths as she heads inside. The inner doors are locked and no one without a student ID is allowed to enter. Sansa manages to give the security guard sitting behind the front desk a small smile before going to the phone at the corner of the desk’s counter. She dials Arya’s three digit room number and waits as it rings, Sansa feeling her stomach knot tighter and tighter with each ring.

 

Arya answers on the fourth ring. “’ello?”

 

Sansa winces. “I woke you up.” That isn’t good at all. Arya is a dragon when she’s awoken before she’s ready.

 

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Arya says and then yawns loudly. “Wait. Is everything okay?” She asks and suddenly sounds far more alert than just a second before.

 

“I’m down in the lobby. Can I talk with you?” Sansa is proud she gets that out while sounding somewhat normal before she realizes she didn’t answer Arya’s question. “Yes, everything’s okay,” she adds. _Lies_ , but Arya will find that out soon enough.

 

“Give me a second. I’ll be down.”

 

Arya hangs up and Sansa hangs up as well, giving the guard another small smile. He looks at her and smiles, too. He looks to be around her age – a student worker. His nametag says Dickon. Sansa notes that he’s handsome – tall with a ridiculously chiseled jaw – but Sansa turns away before noticing anything else about him. That kind of guy is who used to be her exact type, but now, Sansa doesn’t even glance at him again.

 

Arya appears a minute later, pushing open the heavy inner door and stepping into the lobby. She’s wearing black sweatpants, her Adidas sneakers (untied) and a Rugby jersey of some player Sansa doesn’t know that is so large on Arya’s already small frame, it hangs down to her knees.

 

“Hey,” Arya manages to get out before she’s yawning again.

 

“Did you go to class this morning?” Sansa can’t help, but ask her, sounding more like Cat than she intended.  

 

“I went like this,” Arya shrugs.

 

Sansa had never gone to any of her classes in her pajamas. No one in the South had.

 

“You hungry? The cafeteria just opened up for lunch,” Arya says and then goes back to the door. “Thanks, Dickon,” she says as the man – boy, guard, whatever he is – buzzes the door back open and Sansa follows her sister into the dorm.

 

“Um, sure,” Sansa says though the idea of actually eating anything is making her feel ill. She hadn’t even eaten anything for breakfast, but she doesn’t mention that to Arya because if she does, then Arya will definitely know that something is wrong. Sansa never even thinks of not eating breakfast.

 

“Do you have enough?” Sansa asks as they both take plastic trays.

 

“Dad and mom bought me the biggest meal plan they could at the beginning of the year,” Arya says, immediately moving towards the slices of pizza.

 

Sansa doesn’t want to cause Arya to be suspicious so she gets herself a bowl of the broccoli cheddar soup she already knows she won’t finish and a roll and waits for Arya to finish getting her own lunch. They get drinks and Arya gives her ID to the cafeteria worker to be swiped and they then go to sit down at one of the tables in front of the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

 

It’s just a few minutes after eleven and the cafeteria is still mostly empty. That will change soon though. Sansa doesn’t know if she prefers to talk with Arya when there’s no one around or when there’s a crowd.

 

“Alright. Spill,” Arya says, picking up one of the three slices of pizza she has gotten.

 

Sansa takes her countless deep breath. “Last night… Jon and I…” she pauses and Arya has frozen, the pizza stopped in mid-air, nearly to her mouth, and she’s staring at Sana. “We almost kissed,” Sansa gets out in a rush, figuring there is no good way to say that and it must be best to just get it out.

 

“Oh, thank God,” Arya breathes. “I thought you were going to say that you two hooked up. It’s still too early in the morning to hear something like that.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Arya,” Sansa says quickly; desperately. “He said that he was just playing around. He didn’t mean to almost kiss me.”

 

Arya snorts. “I doubt that. Jon’s been looking at your ass for a month now.”

 

Sansa feels her cheeks warm. She opens her mouth to say something, but she doesn’t know what.

 

“And why are you apologizing?” Arya wonders. “You two are both adults. Do whatever you want, but wait to tell me about it at a reasonable hour. And without too many details. ”

 

“But…” Sansa stares at her sister. “But you and Jon…”

 

Arya stares at her and Sansa keeps staring at her in return. She’s not wrong, is she? She’s been watching them and she… she can’t be _that_ wrong about Jon and Arya’s feelings towards one another. Can she?

 

Arya bursts out into laughter then – loud and echoing – and Sansa realizes that she _can_ be that wrong.

 

Sansa frowns and her brow furrows. “But I thought…”

 

“Oh my god, you thought me and Jon were…” Arya is laughing so hard, she’s nearly crying. “That’s hilarious. Absolutely disgusting, but hilarious.”

 

Sansa is still staring at her, frowning. “You two, I see you, Arya. You’re _so_ close.”

 

“So are Robb and I. So are _you_ and Robb. Jon is like another Robb for me,” Arya says and brings her pizza towards her mouth again. This time, she’s able stop smiling and laughing enough to take a bite.

 

Sansa thinks of all of the ways Jon and Arya are always playing and goofing around with one another. She had been _so_ certain that something was going on between them. Jon certainly doesn’t act with her the way he does with Arya.

 

Maybe she had read what happened in his office completely wrong and even if Jon and Arya _did_  have something between them, maybe there really wouldn’t be a reason to tell Arya about the office.

 

Because even if what Arya says is true and Jon _has_ been staring at her ass, (Sansa seriously doubts he has), if he likes her and the opportunity came about that he could kiss her, he wouldn’t be so quick to say he was just playing around if that wasn’t the truth.

 

And no one would know the truth about what Jon says more than Jon.

 

…

 

When the final customer leaves and Tormund locks the door behind him, all four seem to release a collective sigh of relief. For a Tuesday night, the bar was exceptionally busy for some reason.

 

Sansa goes to one of the tables and sits down, grateful to be off her feet – finally. Even wearing sneakers, she has been running everywhere tonight and she just needs a minute to relax her limbs and breathe. Daario comes from behind the bar with two bottles of Heineken, placing one down in front of Sansa and keeping the other for himself.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says and takes a greedy chug. Heineken is the only beer she likes and she likes that her coworkers know that about her.

 

Daario slips in the chair across from her, his eyes glued down to his phone and he’s quiet. Far quieter than any of them are used to Daario being.

 

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asks.

 

Daario doesn’t answer right away, still looking to his phone. “I think so. I texted Beth earlier and she still hasn’t gotten back to me. It usually doesn’t take her this long to reply.”

 

Sansa hopes that Beth is ignoring him, but of course, she won’t say that to Daario.

 

Tormund comes next. He drops a quarter into the jukebox and selects a song and then comes to their table, dropping down in a third chair. He has emptied the last of the popcorn from the machine in the corner and sets the basket down in the middle of the table so they can all eat it. _Wild Horses_ by The Rolling Stones starts to play and they are all quiet, munching on popcorn. Daario’s phone dings and Daario practically leaps in his seat. Sansa and Tormund watches as he fumbles with his phone and they see the way his face falls when he sees that the incoming text isn’t from the person he had hoped.

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything and she sips her Heineken, reminding herself again that it’s none of her business.

 

Jon arrives last, setting a bottle of Guinness down in front Tormund before sitting down in the final chair at the table – the chair between Sansa and Daario. Sansa glances at him – but only for a second and only from the corner of her eye. He’s wearing jeans and a flannel button-down shirt, the top buttons open and showing the white tee-shirt he’s wearing beneath. As always, he looks so handsome and Sansa thinks so, but unlike before, where she would feel guilt for thinking those thoughts about him – thinking of Arya – now, she tries to get herself to stop from having those thoughts because she has a crush on her boss and that can’t possibly lead to anything good.

 

Jon has been acting like nothing almost happened in his office between them and Sansa has taken his cue, acting the same. But despite pretending, things aren’t normal between them either and Sansa can’t help, but wonder if it bothers Jon; or if he’s even noticed. The only times they have spoken with one another tonight is when Sansa needed another order of drinks.

 

Castle Black Bar has been so busy tonight, Jon left Ghost upstairs in his flat rather than bring the dog down as Jon usually does on Tuesday nights.

 

“Real good job tonight, everyone,” Jon says after taking a swig from his beer. “I asked a couple of the customers tonight and there’s some sort of conference in town and one of the hotel workers at the front desk gave them the name of our bar. Looks like tomorrow night could be a crazy night, too.”

 

He has the tip jar and he slides it over to Daario to begin counting it out and separating it three ways between himself, Jon and Tormund. Sansa’s tips have already been taken from her apron and tucked into her coat pocket in her locker and she’ll count them out once she gets home.

 

“Would be a perfect night for karaoke,” Daario says, not lifting his eyes – looking back and forth between the money and his phone. “Drunk business people, getting up and singing Duran Duran.”

 

Jon visibly grimaces. “That sounds terrible.”

 

Tormund snickers and Sansa smiles around the top of her beer bottle.

 

Daario’s phone begins to ring then, making Daario jump, and as soon as he sees who’s calling, he snatches the phone up to answer. “Hey. Are you alright?” He answers and immediately stands up, walking away from the table and heading down the hallway towards the bathrooms.

 

Sansa takes it upon herself to stand up and sit down in Daario’s chair, resuming the counting of the tips for the three guys.

 

“Hopefully, she’s breaking up with him,” Tormund comments as he leans forward to take more popcorn.

 

Sansa can’t help, but look at him with surprise. Tormund notices and shrugs.

 

“Daario’s good looking, but he’s not _that_ good looking,” is all he says and Sansa smiles at that.

 

Jon has been quiet, reclined back in his chair, sipping his beer and clearly in thought. “Online, I found one of those vintage photo booths. You know the kind where you pay and get your picture taken and you get a strip of four black-and-white photos,” he says and it seems as if he’s thinking out loud.

 

Sansa doesn’t look up as she continues counting out the money, separating it into three neat piles. Tormund eats more popcorn. Both are quiet, letting Jon continue to sort out his thoughts.

 

“That could be a draw for some,” Jon continues.

 

He slouches a little lower in his chair and stretches his legs out. His foot comes to a rest against hers and Sansa pauses in her counting. She expects him to realize that his foot is touching hers, but Jon’s foot remains right where it is and Jon takes another sip of his beer and Sansa resumes counting the tips.

 

She scolds herself for being such an idiot and feeling herself growing warmer just with his foot touching hers.

 

Jon still doesn’t even seem to realize.

 

“The one I found online isn’t _too_ expensive. It’d be an investment,” Jon muses. “The back corner by the pool table would be a good spot for it.”

 

“It would be something fun,” Sansa agrees before she can stop herself. “I bet a lot of people would love it.”

 

That seems to shake Jon from his thoughts and his eyes look to her. She can feel them. Sansa lifts her own head and her eyes meet his. For a moment, neither say anything. They simply look at one another and Sansa feels the flutters in her stomach that are becoming all too familiar whenever she is around Jon Snow.

 

The moment is broken however when Tormund then clears his throat and both Jon and Sansa seem to snap themselves out of it. Sansa looks to Tormund who is sitting there with a grin on his face, looking at them both. He doesn’t say anything though. Sansa feels like his grin says _more_ than enough.

 

She clears her throat. “Here you go,” she says and guides one pile of money towards Jon and the other towards Tormund. “And this is for Daario when he gets back.” She stands up then, taking the glass tip jar and her near empty bottle of beer with her as she leaves the table and goes to the bar.

 

She wishes she could go home now, but they still have to clean up. She still has to stay here, with Jon, feeling the flutters in her stomach, and having to constantly remind herself that he’s her boss and he was just _playing_ around with her. He didn’t actually mean to almost kiss her and even if he had kissed her, he made it clear to her that it wouldn’t have meant anything.

 

She tips her head back and drains the last of her beer before going behind the bar, dropping it into the large recycle box for the bottles and cans that they have beneath the bar top. She then picks up one of the dishtowels and begins wiping down the bar. Hopefully, if Jon and Tormund see her begin to clean up, they’ll finish up their own beers and join in to help. The sooner they clean, the sooner she can leave.

 

She hates this. She has loved working here from her first night – no matter how lost and stressed she had felt at the time over a new job, doing something she had never done before. But now, she can’t wait to leave. It’s not supposed to be like this. Being here, working here, she feels happy every time she walks through the door. Does she want to do this the rest of her life? She has no idea. She hasn’t thought that far ahead yet, but as for right now? It’s perfect and now she feels like because of her own stupidity, it’s all ruined now.

 

She knows she can’t possibly be the only girl to ever get a crush on their boss, but still, that doesn’t stop her from feeling immensely stupid right now.

 

Sansa lifts her head when she hears chair scrape against the floor and sees Jon and Tormund standing up. Jon turns towards the bar and his eyes immediately meet hers. This time though, Sansa doesn’t have her eyes linger. This time, she quickly looks away and continues wiping down the bar top.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank everyone enough for the reads, kudos and comments. More Jon/Sansa interaction in the next chapter.


	6. Six

…

 

Jon takes a deep breath. There’s no reason to be thinking about her, he tells himself, which – he knows – is complete bullshit, but he’s going to tell himself anyway.

 

This is Sansa. They are friends. He’s allowed to think about his friends; just not all of the time, like he seems to be doing with Sansa. They aren’t the same as they were when they were children. They’re closer now. They’re friends. And yes, Jon would like perhaps something a bit more with her than friendship, but it’s obvious to him that she doesn’t. After her reaction to him almost kissing her in his office, he knows for certain now that trying to kiss her again would be a huge un-fixable mistake.

 

And if pretending that absolutely nothing has changed between them so he can keep being her friend, well, then that is exactly what Jon is going to do. He is just going to bury things and hope they disappear eventually and he will pretend that he didn’t almost kiss her or that he _wants_ to still kiss her. It’s easier to just pretend that way instead of thinking about it constantly and torturing himself. And it isn’t as if Sansa is asking him if they can sit down and talk about it. When Jon begins to pretend, Sansa is pretending right along with him.

 

It’s his turn to host movie night – something he, Robb and his other best mate, Sam Tarly, started from their days still in university. They would take turns and pick a movie and the others would come for a night of pizza and beers and just hanging out. Once they graduated and became busy with their own lives, they maintained the tradition of movie night, it sometimes being the only time all three can find time to spend together. It may not seem that important to anyone else, but to the three of them, it’s almost something sacred.

 

Once Jon opened Castle Black Bar and his schedule became the complete opposite of Robb and Sam – a pharmacist – they began having movie nights on Mondays with the bar being completely closed.

 

Jon spends much of his Monday resting and down in his office in the empty bar, doing paperwork, and then going up to his flat to make sure everything is straightened out though Sam and Robb couldn’t care less about things of that sort.  Robb has been in a relationship with Jeyne Westerling for years now – since high school – and Sam is married with a little boy at home. Jon is the only single one and the only one without throw pillows on his couch. Jon thinks his mates like coming over to such a “guys” flat.

 

Jon wonders if Sansa would like or want throw pillows.

 

The thought makes him sigh angrily at himself as he moves his now-dry clothes from the dryer into the basket. He’s pathetic. Truly. Sansa isn’t interested in him and it’ll be best for his mental state if he move on from her. Nothing is going to happen between them and Jon just needs to get it – get _her_ – out of his head.

 

With the money Jeor had left for him in his will, Jon took his time in choosing the best location for his bar. This building isn’t the biggest and he didn’t want it to be. Too big of a bar and he wouldn’t be able to manage it well. With the bar and flat above it, Jon was able to buy the building with one signature on the dotted line, Ned at his side to make sure that Jon wasn’t getting screwed in one or another by the realtor and still be able to have money left over to get Castle Black Bar off the ground.

 

If it wasn’t for Jeor, Jon honestly has no idea where he would be right now. Still working at someone else’s bar, trying to save and scrape together money in hopes of maybe someday having enough for his own place.

 

His life has been going so well for the past couple of years, Jon figures he’s been due for a bit of a muck up.

 

Moving the wet clothes from the washing machine into the dryer, he starts the cycle and then carries basket of his whites into the bedroom. Ghost is sitting in front of the window that overlooks the front of the building, the street below, and the coffee shop across the street. As Jon sets the basket down on the bed, Ghost lets out an excited bark, standing up on all four legs and beginning to wag his tail.

 

“See someone?” Jon asks his dog, going to his side to look out the window and see what Ghost sees.

 

When he does, he sucks in a breath too quickly and he nearly chokes on it. Below, having just come out of the coffee shop with a cup in one gloved-clad hand is Sansa.

 

Seven Hells, she looks gorgeous, Jon thinks to himself even though he had just seen her the night before.

 

Her jeans are dark and tight, hugging her legs, and she’s wearing brown boots that go to her calves. Her coat is navy blue, a belt cinched around her waist, and her long red hair is worn down. The air outside seems still that afternoon, disturbing none of the strands. Jon stares at her and keeps staring at her and he just wants to keep staring at her. A week later and he swears he can still feel the ghost of her soft skin on his fingertips.

 

Ghost lets out another bark and this time, Sansa seems to hear because she stops on the sidewalk and lifts her head. She looks up to the window and sees Jon and Ghost, looking down at her, and she seems to go completely still.

 

Jon swallows and then, slowly, he lifts his hand in a greeting.

 

Sansa seems to hesitate, but then slowly, the hand not holding her coffee lifts in a return wave. Jon swears he can see the faintest smile across her lips and Jon smiles in return.

 

He doesn’t think about what he’s doing. For once, he just does it without analyzing and thinking of possible outcomes. He sees Sansa standing on the sidewalk below, across the street, and he knows he can’t blow this opportunity to see her on a day when he has no reason to. He holds his breath and holds his index finger up.

 

Sansa looks at him and he swears that an eternity passes before she nods her head.

 

Jon breathes again and hurries away from the window. He goes into the living room, grabbing his boots from the closet, tugging them on and lacing them up, and then grabbing his coat, scarf and gloves, he hurries from the flat, Ghost on his heels even though Jon hasn’t – technically – invited him to come along.

 

He feels his heart pounding in his chest and he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s doing it.

 

He makes sure he has his keys in his pocket and that the door is closed and locked behind him before he turns and looks across the street. He exhales a breath when he sees that Sansa is still there, waiting. Jon forces himself to breathe like a normal human being and after checking both ways, he crosses the street, Ghost pulling ahead so he can reach Sansa first.

 

Sansa smiles and rubs Ghost behind his ear just like she knows he likes. “Well, hello you,” she smiles at him and Ghost’s tail is sweeping back and forth, his head pushing into Sansa’s leg. She then lifts her head and looks to Jon and Jon’s going to pretend that her smile doesn’t slip a little from her face at the sight of him.

 

“Hi,” Jon comes to a stop in front of her, his hands in his pockets, and he can’t help, but smile.

 

“Hi,” Sansa greets in return. “I was just getting coffee and I promised Beth I would stop in to see her on her lunch break today. She works down the street,” she speaks quickly, as if she feels like she has to explain herself to him as to why she’s in this neighborhood when the bar isn’t open today.

 

She seems nervous and Jon wonders if he should just go back inside. She’s nervous because of _him_ and Jon hates himself just a little bit more for ruining things between them by wanting to kiss this girl; for wanting to do _more_ than just kiss her. He knows both Robb and Arya – and possibly even Ned and Catelyn Stark – would kill him, but Jon imagines Sansa in his bed and he’s doing so much more to her than just kissing her.

 

It amazes him how spectacular he is able to ruin things and at the lightning speed in which he does.

 

He has to set this right. They might have grown up, distance always between them, but that was then and this is now and he wants Sansa Stark to be his friend again.

 

“Do you mind if I walk with you?” Jon asks and he expects Sansa to give him a reason as to why he can’t, but she looks at him for a moment and then she nods her head.

 

“Alright,” she agrees.

 

She turns back down the sidewalk and Jon is more than eager to step in beside her. They begin walking, Ghost trotting in front of them, and Sansa takes a small sip from her cup, now holding it between both hands.

 

“How is your day off so far?” Jon asks, desperate to ask her anything just so he can hear her voice.

 

“It’s good,” she gives a slight nod. “I…” she glances towards him, as if deciding whether she wants to tell him something or not. Jon looks at her, locking his eyes with her, and hopes that she will. “I sketched something this morning. A dress. I dreamt about it and as soon as I woke up, I had to get it down.”

 

“That’s great, Sansa,” Jon gives her a smile.

 

He knows she hasn’t done anything in regards to her clothes and designs since she dropped out of school and came back home. She’s even stopped sewing and he can always remember, growing up, Sansa wearing at least one thing at all times that she had designed and made herself.

 

He and his mom went South on vacation one year – she wanted to go to the beach and have Jon experience it at least one time in his life – and there was just something about the air down there that he hadn’t liked in the least. Too hot and too many people. Give him the North any day. And then when Sansa came back home and he found out what happened to her down there, he found his hate for the South completely justifiable.

 

Only truly idiotic people wouldn’t be able to see how talented and amazing Sansa Stark is.

 

If only he was able to tell her that himself.

 

Sansa shrugs. “It’s just a sketch.”

 

“Maybe you’d be willing to design a bar tee-shirt for us all to wear for that pub crawl in a couple of months,” Jon suggests. Sansa turns her head to look at him, obviously surprised. Jon just gives her a small smile and lets Sansa think on that for a moment.

 

He wants to tell her that he misses her; that he’s sorry he almost kissed her because while it’s what he wants, it’s clear that it’s not what she wants and that’s all that matters. He would never do anything to make her uncomfortable and he hates himself for ruining everything that has been built between them.

 

Before he can say any of that though, they arrive at Beth’s work – the First National Bank of Winterfell.

 

Beth has been waiting in the vestibule between the two sets of doors because as soon as she sees Sansa – with Jon and Ghost – she comes outside, smiling at them both. With her is a young man, around their age – tall and lean with dark hair.

 

“Hi, guys,” Beth smiles at them both and Ghost greets her much like he had greeted Sansa minutes earlier.

 

Jon wonders why Beth doesn’t seem surprised to see him and Ghost.

 

“This is Pyp. We work together. Pyp, these are my friends, Sansa and Jon,” Beth makes introductions.

 

“Hello,” Pyp smiles politely at them both.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Jon holds out his hand and Pyp shakes it.

 

Sansa looks to Beth with a smile that almost seems like it is a secret and Beth blushes shyly, shrugging.

 

“Hello, Pyp,” Sansa smiles at him, also shaking his hand.

 

Jon knows that Beth isn’t the sort to be sneaky or manipulative. He knows that she’s sweet; probably too sweet for someone like Daario, if Jon is being honest. So he doesn’t think that Beth is trying to make Daario jealous right now. He sees the way that Beth smiles up at Pyp next to her, still blushing. Daario is his friend, but Beth is his friend, too, and things that happen between them are none of his business. He just knows that Beth wants a relationship and Daario doesn’t so Jon can’t blame Beth for wanting to go out and find a possible relationship with a man who will want one with her, too.

 

Hell, he’s pining after a girl who doesn’t want him so he can admire Beth for being strong enough to get out there and find someone who wants the same thing as her.

 

“Sansa and I were talking. There’s a really good fish-and-chip takeaway place up the street,” Beth says.

 

“Grenn’s?” Jon asks and Beth nods.

 

He then looks to Sansa – not even sure if she wants him to come with them or not. He doubts it. He said he would walk her to Beth’s bank and he has now, so he wonders if and Ghost should turn and head back home?

 

But Sansa looks at him and she gives him the smallest smile and Jon grasps hold of that smile and doesn’t let go. He gives her a small smile in return and as the four begin walking down the street, Ghost, once again, trotting out in front of all of them, Jon tells himself that no matter how much this feels like a double date, this is definitely _not_ a double date. Of course though, his mind can’t seem to get in complete agreement about that because when they walk, Sansa’s elbow brushes against his arm and even through their coats and all of their layers, Jon swears he can _feel_ it and he’s just grateful no one is privy to his pathetic thoughts.

 

…

 

Not exactly his healthiest eating day, he thinks to himself as he helps himself to a few slices of pepperoni pizza from the box on the kitchen counter, but he tells himself that he’s still young and he’ll just run it off.

 

Everyone there in his flat that night have already gotten their plates of pizza and bottles of beer and are in the living room, talking and joking around with one another. Robb, Sam, as usual, Tormund and Daario are also there and tonight, Arya has come and she has brought her boyfriend, Gendry, though she keeps telling everyone with two working ears that he’s _not_ her boyfriend though it’s obvious to everyone with even just one working eye that he most definitely is.

 

“You could have brought Beth,” Jon says when he lets Daario into the flat – though Jon is now wondering if Daario really could have though it wouldn’t be the first time Beth had come for a movie night.

 

Daario shakes his head. “I tried calling her earlier to see if she wanted to, but she texted me back. I guess she and Sansa are having some sort of girl’s night together – whatever the hell that is.”

 

Jon keeps his mouth shut about his lunch earlier that day with Sansa, Beth and Pyp. It’s not his business to mention any of it to Daario.

 

“Hey,” Arya comes into the kitchen. She goes to the paper towel roll on the counter and helps herself to a few. “Have you talked to Sansa?”

 

That gets Jon’s eyes to fly over to look at her. “Why would I talk to Sansa?” He asks.

 

Arya rolls her eyes. “You two are so annoyingly stupid, it makes me want to bash my head against the wall.”

 

“Thanks,” Jon replies dryly. He turns to the refrigerator and gets himself a bottle of beer. “Why would I talk to Sansa?” He asks her again.

 

Arya exhales a deep sigh and then begins speaking as if talking to a small child. “Because you almost kissed her and she freaked out because she thought you and me were involved and she didn’t want to betray me, but if she had been aware of how disgusting the idea of you and me together is, she wouldn’t have freaked out with you kissing her.”

 

Arya says it all so matter-of-factly and all Jon can do for a minute or two is stand there dumbly, holding his beer and plate of pizza and staring at her. Arya smirks a little and turns back towards the counter, flipping open one of the pizza boxes and taking a triangle slice of cheese pizza for herself.

 

“What are you talking about, Arya?” He asks her slowly.

 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Arya is just messing around. That’s what she does. It’s what she’s always done. She’s always been smaller than Robb and Jon – always will be – and she mastered the art of messing with them with her words from an early age. It’s her greatest weapon and even now as grown men, Robb and Jon still fall for the things she says more than they really should.

 

Arya just shrugs. “It would probably make sense if you and Sansa actually talked to one another.”

 

With that, she turns and leaves the kitchen again.

 

Sansa thought he and Arya were together? Where the hell did she get that idea? But more important that than, if she didn’t have that asinine thought in her head, is Arya right? Would Sansa have wanted him to kiss her? He doesn’t know if he can believe that. He _wants_ to believe that – of course he does – but, if Sansa knows now that he and Arya definitely aren’t involved, why hasn’t _she_ been the one to talk with him?

 

Because he told her that he was just playing around.

 

Jon remembers hating the words as soon as he said them, but she had been freaking out and he wanted her to stop freaking out and he had just thought if he tried to play it off as a huge joke, it would be better. Obviously, he mucked it up even more by telling her that because now, Sansa thinks he wasn’t serious; that he _isn’t_ serious. And why should she think otherwise? He told her that he was playing around and then has gone around, pretending like nothing has happened between them at all.

 

He turns and drops his head heavily against the refrigerator door.

 

“Hey, Snow!” Robb calls out from the living room. “Can we start the movie or what?”

 

“We can start it,” Arya answers. “He’s in the kitchen, freaking out. He’ll probably be a while.”

 

Jon hears her response and he can’t say anything to refute it. She’s not wrong.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for all of the reads, kudos and comments!


	7. Seven

…

 

Jon is acting very strangely tonight.

 

It’s something Sansa picks up on immediately from the moment she arrives at the bar for work on Tuesday evening, and she spends the next hour trying to figure out exactly both how and why he is acting strangely.

 

The how is a bit easier to answer. He won’t talk with her even though he looks like he _really_ wants to. Sansa will go to the bar to place a drink order and she watches as he makes everything, placing the various glasses onto her tray, and she’ll give him a small smile and thank him. Jon will smile in return and his mouth will open as he looks at her and Sansa waits, thinking that he wants to say something, but he never does. And after the moment becomes awkward, Sansa takes her tray and turn away from the bar, all the while wondering what Jon is trying to say to her, but seems incapable of actually doing so.

 

As to _why_ he’s acting like this, Sansa isn’t so sure. Is it still over their almost-kiss? He had been pretending that that hadn’t happened though so Sansa has been pretending the same and it had happened a week ago already. Is his strange behavior still a result of something that hadn’t even happened between them?

 

Yesterday, going out for fish-and-chips with Jon, Beth and Pyp – and Ghost sitting on the curb outside as they went inside to eat – had gone well. At least, Sansa had thought so. They had gotten their baskets of fish and French fries and their drinks and gone to sit at the table next to the window, the warm sun pouring through.

 

Beth and Pyp had sat on one bench and Sansa and Jon had seated across the table from them on the other bench and the four had had an easy and comfortable conversation befitting an easy and comfortable lunch. 

 

She can still feel the way her stomach had fluttered when Jon had given her his wedge of lemon because he knows how much she loves lemons with her fish.

 

Sansa chews on her lower lip as she turns away from the table she had just deposited the drinks at, making sure she did so with a smile. Her stomach begins to tighten into a knot. What if Jon fires her? What if he decides that having her work here is just _too_ awkward and he doesn’t want her around his bar anymore?

 

Sansa tries to think of what she’ll do if she has to leave Castle Black Bar. She likes waitressing. Surprisingly, she really likes it and she knows there are other waitress jobs to be had in Winterfell and she’s sure that she’ll eventually be happy at her new job. But she really loves working here – with Daario and Tormund and Jon.

 

She dares a glance back to Jon from over her shoulder and she finds that he’s already looking at her; staring directly at her and when he sees her looking now, too, Sansa expects Jon to quickly look away again. But instead, he keeps looking at her and the smallest smile twitches at his lips. Sansa smiles a little in return, her stomach tightening now for a completely different reason despite her best efforts to stop it from happening.

 

She reminds herself – for what has to be the hundredth time now – that having a crush on Jon is stupid. So stupid. He is her boss. And even if he wasn’t that, he’s still Jon. He’s Robb and Arya’s best friend. And if there is the slimmest possibility that Jon has feelings for her in return, she can’t imagine Robb and Arya really liking it. She knows Robb and Arya love her, but Sansa can’t help, but think that they would try to talk Jon out of it.

 

_“Sansa’s great, Jon, but… well, you can do better for yourself than her.”_

_“She’s not as spoiled as she used to be, but she’s still kind of a princess, don’t you think?”_

She walks to each of her tables, making sure that everyone has what they need, collecting empty bottles and glasses as she does. When she feels the door open, Sansa lifts her head and instantly breaks into a smile. It’s Sam Tarly, one of Jon and Robb’s closest friends. He doesn’t come to the bar often – he is a pharmacist and works long hours and he is married with a little child at home so finding time to come to Castle Black Bar is rare, but when he does show up, Sansa is always so happy to see him.

 

She has only known Sam in the short months since she has been home, but the instant she met him, she liked him. There’s just something good and kind about him that draws people in. He is a teddy bear come to life and Sansa always smiles at just the sight of him.

 

There is another man with him – taller and leaner and handsome – and he looks vaguely familiar to Sansa, but she can’t place him. She’s fairly certain she’s never met him before.

 

Sam and the other man go to the bar and Jon is smiling at the sight of his best friend – shaking both Sam’s and the other man’s hands – and Sansa pauses a moment before going to the bar as well to drop off her tray of empty bottles and dirty glasses.

 

“Hi, Sam,” Sansa greets him with a smile.

 

“There she is!” Sam smiles happily in return and Sansa quite willingly accepts a hug from him. “Sansa, this is my younger brother, Dickon. Dickon, this is Sansa Stark. She’s the waitress here.”

 

Sansa smiles politely at the man and the man smiles at her in return, holding out his hand.

 

“Very nice to see you again,” Dickon says to her.

 

“Again?” Sansa’s brow crinkles. “I’m sorry…”

 

“I have a part-time job as campus security,” he begins to explain.

 

“Oh, yes! My sister’s dorm,” Sansa smiles at him. “Yes, it’s nice to see you again.”

 

Jon clears his throat then – a bit loudly and she immediately takes note. She turns her head to look at him on the other side of the bar and Dickon turns his head, too. Sansa realizes that Jon isn’t looking at them though. He’s looking down – to their hands still holding one another in a shake.

 

Sansa feels her face flush and she clears her own throat – a bit more delicately – as she pulls her hand away.

 

“I should get back to work,” she says to all of them and none of them in particular at the same time and then taking her tray from the bar, she makes her way to a table of women that have just sat down before Jon can scold her because that feels as if he has done just that.

 

She can feel eyes watching her as she walks away and she doesn’t know why she should feel embarrassed, but Sansa’s face is deep red as if she is.

 

“Welcome to Castle Black Bar,” Sansa smiles at the table – three women who are dressed as if perhaps they have just come from their work office. “May I get you something to drink?”

 

“I told you it was a good night to come. _Both_ of them are here,” one of the women tell her two companions and Sansa knows that they are speaking about Jon and Daario. Sansa is more than used to comments like this being made and she hardly even notices them anymore.

 

“Val,” one of the other women say to the beautiful blonde who had spoken first. “You _have_ to talk to him tonight. He looks good enough to eat, that’s for sure.”

 

The three women dissolve into giggles.

 

Sansa remains standing there, wondering if they’re ever aware of her presence, and she ignores the knot in her stomach. They could be talking about Daario for as much as Sansa knows. Plenty of women come in here for Daario _or_ Jon and if it’s Jon these women are giggling over, Sansa tells herself that it doesn’t matter to her. It’s apparent to Sansa that Jon really was just playing around with her and had had no intention of kissing her or _wanting_ to kiss her. Sansa had thought Jon had feelings for Arya, and though Arya says that that’s a disgusting thought, Sansa can’t help, but wonder how much of the truth she really knows. Because the way Sansa is beginning to see it, just because Arya doesn’t have feelings for Jon doesn’t mean that Jon doesn’t have feelings for Arya.

 

If he did, it would make sense to Sansa as to why he was ignoring that anything almost happened in his office.

 

But Arya said that Jon has been looking at her ass for a while now. Sansa still doesn’t know if she believes that or not – it’s not like she’s ever caught Jon staring at her ass – but if he has, why, when around him, is she feeling like she’s the last person Jon wants to be around?

 

The women finally look to Sansa, still smiling and giggling. They order three old-fashions.

 

Sansa turns from the table and heads back to the bar. Jon and Sam are talking – Sam and Dickon sitting on two stools at the bar, bottles of beer and a bowl of popcorn between them – and Jon looks up when he sees Sansa approaching. His eyes settle on her and in the low lighting of the bar, she can still feel the intensity of his gaze on her. Or is she? Is she just imagining him looking at her like that because that’s how she wants him to look at her?

 

“Three old-fashions, please. Table four,” Sansa orders from Jon with a small smile, coming to stand on the other side of Sam, setting her tray down in front of her.

 

“You got it,” Jon gives a nod and a small smile on his own before he turns, starting a bill in the POS system for the table and then goes about mixing the three drinks.

 

“How’s Gilly and Little Sam?” Sansa asks and Sam smiles as he usually does when his wife and son are mentioned. It always makes Sansa’s heart twist a little.

 

She hopes someone smiles like that about her someday when a person asks about her.

 

“They’re good. We went to get our pictures taken this weekend for Halloween. Would you like one when we get the prints back?” Sam asks.

 

“Of course!” Sansa replies instantly. “I remember when my mom and dad used to do that with all of us. Orange sweaters and posing in a pumpkin patch. So terrible though. My hair and an orange sweater? I looked a fright, that’s for sure. Very Halloween appropriate,” she says with a light laugh.

 

“I can’t imagine you ever looking a fright, Sansa,” Sam says with a bit of shyness, but complete sincerity.

 

“We need to have a costume party, Snow,” Daario speaks up from where he’s making his own drinks.

 

“No,” Jon answers him and Sansa purses her lips together to keep from smiling.

 

“Sansa, do you go to WU as well?” Dickon asks, pulling her attention away from watching Jon and Jon’s hands and Jon’s arms as he masterfully mixes the drinks.

 

She looks to the man sitting on the stool on the other side of Sam. She shakes her head. “No, I work here full-time. I was in school in the South, but I came home. I decided it wasn’t for me.”

 

“They just weren’t the ones ready for _you_ , Sansa,” Daario says to her with a wink and she smiles.

 

“Here you go,” Jon says in a soft voice, setting the three drinks down onto her tray.

 

“Thank you,” she says in a matching soft tone.

 

“When you take your break, would it be alright if I speak with you?” Jon then asks before she can step away.

 

Sansa is glad that she hasn’t lifted the tray from the bar. If she had before he asked that question, she is certain she would have just horribly embarrassed herself by dropping the entire thing down at her feet.

 

“Of course,” she finally reminds herself to answer.

 

Without waiting for anything else, Sansa quickly – and carefully – takes the trays of drinks back to the women, who are still giggling and blatantly ogling towards the two men standing behind the bar.

 

Someone has chosen to play _Seven Nation Army_ by The White Stripes on the jukebox and the drumbeat pounds in Sansa’s chest, her heartbeat matching the rhythm of the song, as she checks on the other tables, taking a few refill orders from various people.

 

This time, up at the bar, Jon is busy so Sansa goes to place her orders with Daario.

 

Sansa tries to keep herself from turning her head and looking in Jon’s direction.

 

He wants to talk with her. Sansa tries to keep herself from guessing at what. There’s really only two things it could possibly be. Either it’s about what almost happened in the office or he’s going to be letting her go tonight, explaining to her that the bar really doesn’t need a waitress like he had originally thought.  

 

“Stop being so obvious,” Daario advises to her, putting the finished drinks on her tray.

 

“Shut it,” Sansa instantly responds and Daario grins at her, giving her a wink.

 

Rolling her eyes at herself, Sansa takes the tray and heads back towards the first table. Something’s wrong though. She can tell. She’s been working in this particular setting long enough to know when something is wrong. She slows her steps down. Two of the men at the table are arguing. She can’t tell about what – the song is still playing a bit too loudly for her to hear – but she can tell by their furious faces and the growing tension in the air. One of the women at the table puts her hand on one of the men’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him down, but the man just shrugs her off and keeps saying what he’s saying to the other man.

 

Sansa knows that she should go back to the bar and get Jon. She looks over her shoulder to where Tormund is at his usual spot at the door, but he’s checking the IDs of some new people coming in and he’s not paying attention. It’s not her place to stop a fight from breaking out. She doesn’t even know how to stop a fight.

 

Suddenly, the two men leap to their feet, shouting at one another, making Sansa jump with the suddenness of it, and the women at the table are screaming at them to stop it. The man who’s back is to Sansa shoves his chair back, not seeing Sansa behind him, and it is shoved right into her. The tray is knocked from her hands, crashing to the ground all around her, Sansa trying to catch it before it can. Everyone in the bar sees the fight now and Sansa doesn’t watch as the two men throw punches at each other. Instead, she looks at all of the broken glass around her feet and she doesn’t want someone to hurt themselves.

 

Tormund, Daario and Jon are all there and with the help of other men, they are able to drag the fighting men towards the door, their dates grabbing their things and hurrying after them, both pleading with Jon to not call the police and they’ll leave and they won’t be a problem any longer.

 

Sansa feels a throbbing – like another heartbeat – and it takes her a moment to realize why she’s feeling that.

 

“Hey,” Jon appears at her side, sounding out of breath. “Are you alright?”

 

Sansa doesn’t answer. She’s too busy staring down at her hands.

 

Jon sees within the second, too. “Shit, Sansa. Shit.” He doesn’t take her bleeding hands. Instead, he gently takes her wrists and pulls them up so he can look at her hands.

 

“I dropped the glasses,” she says slowly.

 

Her hands are bleeding. All over. She doesn’t even remember the glasses cutting her. She remembers trying to catch the tray, but she hadn’t even felt the glasses cutting her. She can feel it now though. Her hands are throbbing and there is so much pain, she sucks in a shaky breath and then another and another.

 

“Shit. Daario! Call for an ambulance!” Jon shouts and then looks back to Sansa. “Hey, hey,” he says and his voice is so much gentler now than just a moment ago. Sansa lifts her eyes to look at him. He gives her a small smile. “You’ll be alright. I bet once the blood is washed away, there will hardly be anything there at all.”

 

Sansa tries to nod, but her hands hurt too much and there really is a lot of blood. She has never been bothered by the sight of blood before, but now, she can feel the floor beneath her feet begin to shift.

 

Jon, seeing her sway, acts instantly. He swoops her up in his arms as if she’s a bride and carries her through the curious onlookers, towards the back office.

 

“Here we are,” he says, sitting her down gently onto the couch.

 

Sansa can feel Jon’s hands brushing her hair back from her face and them his thumbs are brushing a tear from her cheek that Sansa hadn’t even realized had fallen from her eye. She hates that he had witnessed it.  

 

He crouches down in front of her and again, his fingers are loose around her wrists as he closely looks over her hands once again.

 

“What did you want to talk about?” Sansa asks.

 

Jon chuckles and shakes his head. “How about we hold that conversation off for a little bit longer? At least until when you’re not bleeding.”

 

“Were you going to fire me?” She can’t help, but ask.

 

Jon’s eyes fly up to look at her when that question leaves her mouth, but before he can say anything at all that, Tormund comes into the office.

 

“Here, lovely.” Tormund has a clean tee-shirt in his hands and hands it to Jon.

 

“Thank you, Tormund,” she is able to say and watches as Jon gently wraps the tee-shirt around her hands, wincing and hissing in air through her teeth as he does.

 

“Daario called for an ambulance and the cops are coming, too,” Tormund tells Jon.

 

“Thanks, Tormund,” Jon says, not looking away from Sansa’s hands.

 

“Jon, may I help?” Sam is in the office then, coming to sit on the couch next to Sansa.

 

From the corner of her eye, Sansa can see Dickon standing in the doorway as well.

 

“We should wash her hands,” Sam says. “Get those cuts clean and get the blood washed off.”

 

“Shit,” Jon murmurs and then quickly, carefully, unwraps the tee-shirt from around Sansa’s hands.

 

From the office, they can hear the sirens from outside, but Jon doesn’t leave. Instead, he stands up and with Sam, they gently pull Sansa to her feet once again. Jon has an arm around her waist and Sansa wonders if it feels as lovely to be pressed against his side as she thinks it does or perhaps, with everything happening right now, leaving her nearly in a daze, if she’s just imagining it.

 

He leads her to the sink in the corner and turns on the faucets, waiting a moment, testing the water, before he gently holds her hands beneath the warm water. Sansa whimpers as the pain shoots through her and Jon’s lips are to her temple, resting there. Sansa wonders if he even realizes he’s doing such a thing.  

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to her. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Sansa wonders exactly what he is apologizing for.

 

“I was trying to catch the glasses before they could fall,” Sansa then remembers.

 

Jon smiles ever so slightly and he pulls his head back so Sansa can turn hers to look at him. “Next time, just drop the glasses. You’re more important to me than some glass.”

 

“Boss.”

 

Daario comes into the office now, Dickon stepping inside and standing next to the couch so he’s not in the way. Jon, Sansa and Sam all turn their heads to look at Daario.

 

“Cops are here. Want to talk to the owner. And I told the paramedics they could come back here to take a look at Sansa’s hands,” Daario says.

 

“I don’t want anyone to make a fuss-” Sansa begins to say, but Jon gives her a look.

 

“Sam,” Jon looks to his best friend. “Make sure she’s properly fussed over.”

 

Sam grins at that. Sansa frowns at Jon, but Jon just smiles at her and then gives her a quick kiss on the forehead before he’s following Daario from the office.

 

Again, Sansa wonders if he’s even realized that he’s done such a thing.

 

Before he can completely leave though, he pauses and looks at Dickon still there and then back to Sansa. Sansa’s not sure why, but she gets the feeling that she should – that she _needs_ to – smile at Jon right then. So she does. It’s small and she’s trying to hide just how much pain she’s in, but it seems to be the right thing to do – for whatever reason, she still doesn’t know – because Jon gives her the smallest smile back before he’s gone and with him gone, Sansa feels that she’s able to cry much more freely, Sam putting a reassuring hand on her arm. She doesn’t mind crying in front of Sam or even Dickon though she’s just met him.

 

She can’t cry in front of Jon though. Not like this. It’s important to Sansa that Jon sees that she can be brave and tough, too, like other girls he knows.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always!


	8. Eight

…

 

Jon takes a deep breath before exiting his car and heading up the path to the Stark’s front door. He got a text from Robb the night before that Sansa was home and they had given her a pain killer and she was sleeping so if he wanted to visit her, it would have to wait until the next day.

 

It is now the next day and Jon had putted around his flat, debating how early is _too_ early to go and see her.

 

His stomach has been in a knot all day. He keeps waiting for Ned or even Catelyn to show up at his door and tell him that Sansa won’t be returning to work at the bar and how dare he for putting their daughter in such a dangerous environment. Jon won’t blame either of them if they _do_ say anything like that to him. Hell. After the fight between two patrons and Sansa getting hurt as a result, Jon is beginning to wonder if Castle Black Bar is the place for her. She’s Sansa Stark. He knows she likes working here. She’s told him that and he has no reason to not believe her. But she deserves something more. She was in King’s Landing and she was going to be a fashion designer and just because the South was too stupid to see how amazing she was, that doesn’t mean that Sansa won’t be able to blow the North away with her designs.

 

He doesn’t know if Sansa will believe that or not – or even if she wants to hear anything like that – but Jon thinks that she _does_ need to hear those things.

 

The more time he spends with her, the more he finds himself head over heels for her. He wants to keep working with her. Honestly, the best part of his nights are when Sansa comes to the bar, smiling at him, needing him to make her some more drinks, and then, after the bar is closed, when they – along with Daario and Tormund – are the only ones there and they’re spending time together, joking around and talking.

 

He wishes he had kissed her in his office and he wishes he had _never_ told her that he was just playing around. Because he wasn’t then and if he ever gets the chance to kiss her again, he won’t be playing around then either. He thinks about kissing Sansa at least twice an hour every day.

 

He thinks of what Arya had told him and though Arya likes to jerk him around with a lot of things, he knows that with this, she’s not. Arya and Sansa might not have gotten along when they were children, but they’ve both grown and ever since Sansa has come home, Arya has been protective of Sansa. She won’t say something to Jon that might hurt Sansa and with Arya telling Jon that Sansa wanted him to kiss her, Arya’s hoping that Jon will actually do _something_ about it.

 

And he wants to. He wants to just grab Sansa and kiss her and hold her in his arms and kiss her again. And again. And he was going to. Well, actually, he was going to talk with her first and then, if she wanted, once he had convinced her that he definitely wasn’t playing around and after, hopefully, she believed him, that was when Jon was going to kiss her.

 

But then that stupid fight happened between those two assholes and Sansa got hurt and he had to talk to the police about pressing charges and the whole night went up in flames.

 

Now, he’s ringing the doorbell of the Stark house, silently hoping that Sansa isn’t going to quit; or that her parents won’t corner Jon and tell him that their daughter will not be returning to work for him.

 

Bran answers the door. “Good morning,” he says.

 

“Hey. What are you doing home?” Jon asks, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

 

“It’s exam week. I had one this morning and not another until tomorrow,” Bran answers and he goes down the hallway, Jon following him.

 

Instead of slagging off for the rest of the day, Bran is at the kitchen table, studying for his next exam. Robb, Sansa and Bran have always been the more studious of the Stark siblings. Arya and Rickon seem to prefer doing anything other than school work and seem to pass their classes by the skin of their teeth.

 

Catelyn is in the kitchen as well, baking supplies around her as she works on baking an endless amount of cookies. Probably another fundraiser she’s heading up for WoW. When it comes to baking, normally, Sansa would be right here at her mother’s side, helping her, and seeing her not here, it makes Jon’s throat dry.

 

“Hello, dear,” Catelyn smiles at him and then leans in, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Some night.”

 

“Yes,” Jon agrees because how can he possibly argue? And he doesn’t know what else to say about it. “Sansa. Is… is she alright? Robb said they had given her a painkiller that had knocked her out for a bit.”

 

“A few stitches. It looked far worse than it actually was, the doctor told us,” Catelyn says, popping a chocolate chip into her mouth and then pushes the bag a bit closer to Jon. He takes one though he doesn’t know if he even really wants one right now. “You may go up and see her. I know she’s awake. And Jon. No matter what Sansa says-” Catelyn begins to say and Jon feels his throat begin to close up. “She is not going to work tonight. She’s going to insist to you that she’s just fine and while I’m sure she is, I want her to take the night off tonight.”

 

Jon feels himself breathe again.

 

“Of course. I wasn’t going to let her come in tonight. Tomorrow night either.”

 

“Well,” Catelyn smiles a bit. “Good luck at keeping her away for two nights in a row. It would seem that she loves being at that bar more than any other place.”

 

Jon does his best to keep from smiling at that, but he knows he’s failing miserable and he climbs the stairs up to the second floor. He knows where Sansa’s bedroom is – directly across from Robb’s – and the door is open, but he knocks nonetheless.

 

“Hi, Jon,” Sansa smiles from her bed and Jon gives her a little smile, stepping inside.

 

Lady is lying on the bed with her and she keeps her head down, but her tail thumps against the mattress. Sansa is sitting up in the bed, the blankets drawn over her, and her laptop is open on her lap. Jon’s eyes immediately go to the white bandages wrapped around both of her hands. She looks beautiful – as always. Her long, red hair is down, tucked behind her ears and flowing down her chest. Every time she wears her hair down, Jon’s fingers itch to tangle in it.

 

“I’m sorry,” he has to say immediately.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Sansa immediately replies. “It wasn’t your fault whatsoever. I should have gotten myself away from it when I saw the situation escalating.”

 

“You shouldn’t have been in that situation,” Jon points out to her, but Sansa just rolls her eyes at that. Jon’s eyes go to a bouquet of white roses that are in a glass vase on her dresser. “Those are nice,” he comments.

 

“Oh.” Sansa’s cheeks flush at the mention of them. “Yes… Dickon Tarly had them sent to me.”

 

Jon doesn’t mean to, but his head whips from the flowers to Sansa at her words. “What?”

 

“Completely unnecessary, but they were delivered this morning and I couldn’t very well refuse them.”

 

“No, you couldn’t do that to Dickon’s flowers,” Jon says and he sounds bitter and petty and he’s well aware of it, but he can’t seem to help himself.

 

He should have brought flowers, too, to give to her. Why had that not even crossed his mind to do that? Sansa Stark deserves flowers every damn day; not just when she’s hurt. He’s a punce at showing this girl that he has feelings for her and why would she ever think that he actually does have feelings for her when he can’t even think to bring her flowers after she gets hurt in _his_ bar and gets stitches.

 

“Jon,” Sansa says his name gently with a shy smile. “Don’t be jealous.”

 

“I’m not jealous,” he instantly refutes though anyone can see that he is. Sansa just keeps directing that small, shy smile of hers at him and doesn’t say anything. “Do you like him?” He then dares himself to ask.

 

“I don’t know him,” she shakes her head. “Take off your boots,” she then says.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m watching episodes of _New Girl_ and want you to watch with me,” she explains. “If you have time. Do you have to get back to the bar right now?”

 

Jon doesn’t answer. He goes to sit down in the chair at her desk to unlace and take off his boots, his heart pounding in his chest, and when he stands up again, he sees Sansa, gently pushing Lady towards the foot of the bed so Sansa has more room to move over, giving Jon a space to sit down next to her. Jon stands there, looking at her – and her bed – for a moment – and Sansa sits there, her cheeks growing pinker and pinker.

 

Finally, he steps to the side of her bed and eases himself down next to her, propping himself up against her pillows and headboards and stretching his legs out next to hers. She’s beneath the blankets and he’s on top of them, but that doesn’t matter to Jon. He can still feel every inch of the length of her leg against his.

 

He turns his head to look at Sansa and he sees the blush on her cheeks and sensing him looking at her, Sansa turns her head and looks at him as well. She gives him a small smile and Jon is able to give her one in return.

 

“You ready?” She asks him.

 

Jon wonders if she’s meaning more than just ready to watch an episode of television right now.

 

He gives a nod in regards to so many things. “Ready.”

 

Sansa smiles and presses the button that starts the episode up again and after a minute or two of watching, of listening to Sansa’s soft laughter, of smelling the sweet scent wafting from her hair, Sansa slips down a little lower beneath the blanket and her head rests against his bicep. Jon hadn’t even realized he had been sitting there, a bit stiff on Sansa’s bed, because the instant her head touches his arm and is resting there, he feels as if he completely melts.

 

He slinks down a little, too, and he rests his cheek against the top of her head and he can’t see her face, but he can feel her smiling. He smiles, too.

 

…

 

“Beth!”

 

Daario doesn’t go running after women, but look at what Beth Cassel has reduced him to, he thinks to himself as he jogs up the street towards her. He’s honestly both surprised and relieved that she has stopped walking at the sound of him and now stands there, waiting for him.

 

She has just come from the small store and there is a bag in her arm.

 

“Hi,” he says, coming to a stop in front of her.

 

“Hi, Daario,” Beth looks up at him with a faint smile. “What are you doing?” She asks.

 

“On my way to work. Stopped at Grenn’s for a quick bite to eat. You?”

 

“Finished with work and just had to run a quick errand before heading home,” she explains.

 

She doesn’t say anything further and Daario takes the moment to look at her. It’s been a few days since he’s seen her. Six, to be exact, and yes, he has been counting. She hasn’t come by the bar and any time he suggests coming over to see her after his shift, she always replies that she doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He wants to ask her why, but he knows why.

 

The differences between Beth and himself have never been a secret to Daario.

 

When they first started hooking up, Beth and him had been on the exact same page. It had been fun and easy and both knew that it wasn’t going to be anything more than what they had for a few hours at a time. But then, he knew, Beth’s feelings towards him began changing. She started to like him past “hook up” feelings and eventually, those feelings of like deepened into something more.

 

Daario considered stopping their arrangement, waiting for Beth to talk with him about changing it herself; about wanting it to become something _more_ ; something more that he didn’t want. But she never did. She continued to keep opening her door to him anytime he knocked upon it and he just thought that if she was good with it, he was, too.

 

He doesn’t know what happened or _why_ it happened. He just knows that he misses her.

 

“How have you been?” Daario asks and he wonders if he sounds as stupid as he feels. Making small talk with a woman is not his strong suit, he admits. Flirting, sure. Wooing, definitely. But talking just to talk? He’s really only done such a thing with Beth and even then, it isn’t as if any of their conversations are ground-breaking.

 

“I’ve been well,” she smiles. “And you?”

 

Daario intends to tell her that he’s been great, but that’s not really the truth and Beth will be able to see right through him. He shrugs. “Could be better,” he answers as honestly as he can. “Would you be able to come by the bar tonight?” He asks and he can hear the hope in his own voice so he knows Beth can hear it, too.

 

Beth pauses for a moment and then shakes her head. “I don’t think so, but thank you for the invitation.”

 

She begins to turn away and without thinking about it, Daario reaches out and gently grabs hold of her arm, stopping her from taking even one step away from him.

 

“What’s going on, Beth?” He asks.

 

Beth opens her mouth and it seems as if she is about to say something, but decides against it at the last moment. Her mouth closes and she shakes her head. “I just… I’m wanting some more, Daario, and I know I can’t get that from you. It’s just easier for me to not see you as much.”

 

There’s not a single part surprised of him surprised by her explanation.

 

“And what about what’s easy for me?” Daario asks before he can stop himself.

 

Beth blinks up at him and then she begins to frown. “I love you. I’ve never hidden that from you. I want a relationship. I’ve never hidden that from you either even though you don’t want that and you don’t love me and I’m not going to force you into anything. We’re just too different, Daario, and we want different things. It’s not a crime. It’s just the end.”

 

Daario hates the way she says it; so final and matter-of-factly.

 

He feels a burning in his chest that he can’t explain or ignore.

 

“Are you seeing someone?”

 

Beth shakes her head. “I’m not going to answer that. It’s none of your business.”

 

“That’s a yes,” Daario frowns and he hasn’t let go of her arm yet. “Is he as good in bed as I am? Has he made you make that sound yet when he kisses that one spot on your thigh? Has he even found that spot yet?”

 

“Daario, stop,” Beth’s eyes flash with anger and she tugs her arm out of his grasp. “I don’t ask you about all of the girls you sleep with when you’re not with me. When I asked you over for dinner on my birthday and you said you were with someone, I didn’t ask about her.”

 

“Your birthday…?” Daario echoes, feeling stunned. He didn’t know it had been her birthday that night? He actually has never known when her birthday was. Beth’s never told him. Why didn’t she say something?

 

Why didn’t he ever ask her when her birthday was?

 

Beth continues as if he hasn’t said anything. “So you don’t get to ask me about any man I might have in my life now. I want a boyfriend and you don’t want to be a boyfriend so I’ve found someone else. You’re not going to make me feel like I’ve done something wrong. There is nothing wrong with wanting to kiss a man without wondering who’s thighs he just had his face between.”

 

When Beth walks away from him this time, Daario remains standing there, letting her go, finding that he’s not able to walk after her.

 

…

 

Sansa laughs from the other end of the phone and the sound in Jon’s ear makes him feel that familiar warmth he gets from her laughter – whether it’s over a phone or if she’s right next to him.

 

“My mom says that she expects the container to be returned to her tomorrow, empty,” Sansa says.

 

Jon smiles as he leans back in his chair at his desk in the office, taking a peanut butter cookie from the container on his desk; the one that Catelyn had pushed into his hands when he had left the Stark house earlier – after spending a couple of hours, sitting in Sansa’s bed with her.

 

“Your mom’s trying to make me fat,” Jon comments.

 

“You say that as if she isn’t aware of that,” Sansa laughs again and Jon smiles as he takes a bite of cookie.

 

“Tormund will help me eat them,” Jon decides.

 

“Does it seem like it’s going to be busy there tonight?” Sansa switches topics.

 

“Even if it is, I won’t tell you,” he replies. “We survived before you came along. We can survive a couple more nights without you.”

 

“A couple?” Sansa picks up on it immediately. “I’m coming back tomorrow night.”

 

“We’ll see,” is all Jon says.

 

“You’re right. We’ll see me tomorrow at work,” Sansa quips and it’s Jon’s turn to laugh.

 

He takes a moment to chew and swallow another mouthful of cookie. “Do you want to go somewhere tomorrow for lunch?” He’s amazed at himself that he’s able to actually ask her that. “Or breakfast? I can cook you breakfast if you want to come over?”

 

“You’re going to cook me breakfast?” Sansa says as if she can’t really believe that he would do such a thing.

 

“Of course. If you want me to, I would. I don’t make waffles like your mom, but I can make French toast alongside the best of them.”

 

He’s going to have to go buy bread, he thinks to himself.

 

“That does sound really good,” Sansa says and he can hear her smile. “Are you sure? I don’t want it to be some huge bother for you.”

 

“Cooking you breakfast would never be a bother,” Jon is quick to tell her. “Around ten tomorrow at my flat? We can… we can talk about a few things. If you want,” he adds.

 

He’s not going to force a conversation if Sansa doesn’t want one. And yet, he really needs to tell her that there is nothing about his growing feels towards her that are just playing around.

 

Sansa is quiet for probably no more than second, but to Jon, he swears that he’s able to sing the entire song _Hotel California_ in his head before Sansa speaks again.

 

“Ten tomorrow. And we can talk,” Sansa agrees softly. “I’ll collect the empty container then.”

 

Jon laughs again. “Good night, Sansa. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Good night, Jon,” her warm, soft voice fills his ear and it nearly makes him want to close his eyes.

 

He’s been listening to Sansa Stark talk for years now and he wonders why he’s never noticed just how _amazing_ her voice is. It’s better than music. He can fall asleep and wake up to her voice all at the same time.

 

He forces himself to hang up the phone. He’s got to get the bar ready to open in the next hour.

 

Just as the receiver is returned to its cradle and Jon stands up, grabbing another cookie, he hears the back door open and then slam shut again and a few seconds later, Daario has stormed into the bar. Jon leaves the office to see what’s going on, taking the container of cookies with him. Tormund is behind the bar, stacking clean glasses, and both look to Daario, able to feel the anger radiating off him. Daario stops and looks at them both.

 

“Beth is the only woman I’ve ever gone down on!” He exclaims to them both.

 

Jon and Tormund still and glance to one another then after another moment, Tormund chuckles and shakes his head.

 

“Thanks for making sure we know that, mate,” he says, grabbing more glasses carefully from the bin and stacking them behind the bar.

 

Jon swallows his mouthful of peanut butter cookie and then holds out the container towards Daario. “Cookie?” He offers.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough for your response and support of this story. I honestly have such a good time writing this one. Thank you!!


	9. Nine

…

 

No sooner has the doorbell finished echoing throughout the house that Sansa tears the door open, grabs Beth’s hand and tugs her inside, closing the front door behind them both.

 

“Whoa,” Beth is able to get out as Sansa then pulls her up the stairs to her bedroom. “What is going on?”

 

Sansa closes the door behind them and then, after a moment of consideration, clicks the lock as well even though no one else is home at the moment. Sansa sighs a breath of relief now that Beth is here. Sansa had sent her a text the night before, asking if she could come over in the morning. The branch of First National Bank of Winterfell that Beth works at opens at ten o’clock and Beth begins her day there at nine. She told Sansa that she can come see her before work.  

 

Beth settles herself on the foot of Sansa’s already neatly made bed and scratches Lady behind her ear.

 

“I’m going over to Jon’s flat this morning for breakfast,” Sansa tells her quickly, slightly out of breath, the racing of her heart making her feel as if she’s in the midst of running a marathon.

 

Beth breaks into a smile at that. “Breakfast in bed?” She asks.

 

Sansa gives her a look at that, frowning. “Beth,” she sighs and Beth can’t help, but laugh.

 

“Sorry. Sorry. What do you need?”

 

“I’m not too sure what to wear,” Sansa confesses and it feels so strange to say because just a year before, this is the one thing she knew how to do. She knew what to wear in any situation and what clothes looked best on her and what were the latest fashions “in” and what the latest fashions on their way “out”.

 

Sansa still reads the fashion magazines, but not as many and far more lackadaisical than she used to. She knows that she can wear whatever she wants and Jon won’t care; if he even notices. She likes to think he will though. Jon seems to notice so many things from his station behind the bar and Sansa thinks when it’s just him and her in his flat, eating French toast, he will notice _everything_.

 

Sansa thinks that that’s one of the reasons why her heart is beating as rapidly as it is.

 

In just a couple of hours, it will just be her and Jon, eating French toast and she will have his completely undivided attention. She hopes her knotted stomach will even allow her to eat the French toast he is going through the trouble of making.

 

She tells herself to not be nervous. She and Jon had been right here the day before, sitting in her _bed_ of all places, watching one of her favorite television shows – not talking, but laughing together and just sitting together and just… _being_ together. It had been such a wonderful couple of hours and when he had told her that he had to get back to the bar, she had done her best to hide her disappointment.

 

After he left, Sansa found herself spending the rest of her morning, imagining what it would be like if she and Jon were together and could spend more time together and she never would have thought she would ever have such thoughts about Jon Snow, her brother’s best friend since they were all children, a figure whose presence was always just there, but someone she never really considered to be in her own life, but here she is now and she can’t get him off her mind.

 

Sansa can only hope that their talk later this morning will have him confessing much the same thing to her.

 

“Alright,” Beth says and with one more scratch to Lady’s ear, she stands up and goes to Sansa’s closet. “What are you having for breakfast?” She asks.

 

“He’s making me French toast,” Sansa answers, unable to stop fidgeting with her fingers in front of her.

 

Beth turns to look at her with that. “ _He’s_ making you breakfast?”  

 

Sansa nods, swallowing thickly. She doesn’t ask Beth why that’s a big deal. She’s already nervous enough.

 

Beth looks back to Sansa’s closet and begins going through the clothes that hang there.

 

“Pyp made me breakfast the other day,” she then says quietly.

 

Sansa’s nerves were momentarily forgotten as she looked to the back of her friend’s head. “You and Pyp…”

 

Beth shakes her head. “No. I went to his flat to watch a movie and I would up falling asleep during it. I woke up in his bed, _by myself_. He had slept on the couch. And then he made me breakfast. The eggs were absolutely _awful_ , but I think they’re still one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

 

Sansa smiles faintly at that. “I like Pyp,” she lets her friend know.

 

Beth smiles shyly and blushes. “Me, too,” she agrees quietly before beginning to look through the clothes once more, trying her best to help Sansa.

 

Sansa likes Daario. She really does. As a friend, he’s a wonderful one. He makes her laugh and he’s always been nice to her and she certainly hasn’t forgotten the tips he gave her from that wretched bachelorette party when he didn’t have to share them with anyone.

 

But in the short time she’s been home and working at the bar and having become dear friends with Beth in that time, Sansa doesn’t blame Beth in the least for moving on from Daario and going out and finding a man who seems to want the same things she does.

 

“Oh, Sansa, what’s this?” Beth asks and Sansa feels the breath catch in her throat when she sees the dress Beth has pulled out from the very back of the closet.

 

Sansa hasn’t laid eyes upon it since she hung it back there; out of sight, out of mind. She really should drop them off at a charity or something rather than just hang back there, a grim constant reminder of her failure.

 

“It’s just something I made,” Sansa answers as simply as possible.

 

_And one of the reasons why I dropped out of school and came home_ , Sansa adds silently to herself.

 

“You made this?” Beth asks with slightly widened eyes as she holds the dress up in front of her. “It’s one of the most gorgeous dresses I’ve ever seen. You made this?” She then asks again, looking from the dress to her and Sansa doesn’t answer, but just nods.

 

Sansa turns towards her dresser so she doesn’t have to look at the dress any longer.

 

It still hurts, to be honest.

 

That dress probably hurts the most; more than all of the others. She had been looking through old history books on the North – for inspiration for her senior fall design showcase – and she had seen pictures of upper class Ladies wearing dresses much like the one Beth still holds in front of her. Sansa had poured her love and homesickness of the North into her dresses – into _that_ dress – and she had all been, but laughed from school.

 

“You can have it,” Sansa says without thinking of it a moment longer.

 

Beth gasps. “I couldn’t possibly-”

 

“I’ll alter it if I have to and then it’s yours,” Sansa says, glancing at her, giving her a smile before looking away again. She wishes Beth would just put the dress away, but she can’t say that without being able to mask the anger and hurt that still resides inside of her even though a few months since the fashion show have passed.

 

She takes a deep breath. She wants to focus on breakfast and Jon and eating breakfast and talking with Jon. She doesn’t want to think about dresses or the whispers and laughs or anything that has to do with the South. That was another life and she doesn’t want to think about it anymore. She’s moving on. She already has and what good would it do, dwelling on everything that did or did not happen for her in her life?

 

This is her life now. She’s a waitress and she’s about to go have breakfast with someone who her feelings towards seem to grow each time she sees him. Studying fashion for three years didn’t make her feel like this; like everything inside of her is trying to flutter away and thank goodness her skin is holding everything in.

 

Sansa just hopes that this breakfast and talk with Jon won’t be cause for another crushing disappointment.

 

…

 

There are two ways up to Jon’s flat. There is a doorway in the hallway outside his office that opens to a staircase that leads up to one of the doors to his flat. Or there’s the street entrance. Sansa goes to that door now and licking her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she hits the buzzer on the wall.

 

A moment later, her buzz is answered.

 

“Sansa?” Jon’s voice comes through the little speaker.

 

“Hi,” she can’t help, but smile upon hearing his voice. She had just heard it the night before over the phone, but, she hearing it again, it makes her happy in a way she doesn’t fully understand. She can also hear Ghost barking in the background. “I’m not too early, am I?”

 

“You’re right on time. Come on up,” he says and then she can hear the door click open.

 

Sansa tugs the handle open and then, making sure it closes completely behind her, she begins up the flight of stairs to the door at the top, the knot in her stomach tightening with each step upwards. She tells herself there’s no reason to be nervous. It’s just breakfast. With Jon. Jon is just making her breakfast. And even after having breakfast, if he tells her that he values her friendship and wants to remain just friends with her, Sansa tells herself that she won’t be angry. Hurt, yes, but not angry. At least he has the courage to tell her what he’s thinking and what his thoughts are instead of just letting her think that they might have the possibility of being anything more to one another.

 

She reaches the top of the stairs far sooner than she would have liked, but she’s here nonetheless and there’s nothing to do except knock.

 

But just as she lifts her fist to do just that, the door swings open and there Jon stands. Goodness, he looks good, Sansa instantly thinks, in his dark jeans and sweater. _Really_ good and she has such an urge to run her fingers through his black curls that he’s wearing down this morning. Thankfully, she’s able to control herself.

 

“Hi,” she smiles and can only hope that he can’t detect just how nervous she is right now.

 

“Hi,” Jon smiles in return and then steps aside, holding the door open wider for her to step inside.

 

She’s never been inside of his flat before and Sansa admits to herself that she’s a bit eager to see it.

 

Ghost is there, of course, and his tongue is hanging from his mouth and his tail is wagging back and forth and Sansa smiles widely, almost laughing at the sight of him. She crouches down and rubs Ghost behind his ears – he’s just like Lady with his love of a good ear rub – and he knocks his head against her chin with appreciation.

 

When Sansa stands again, she finds that Jon is watching her. She gives him a smile, suddenly feeling shy, and she thinks of something to say to him. She’s at a bit of a loss though, she admits, and she still has no idea how this breakfast is going to go. Will they speak of what almost happened in his office between them? Or is this a breakfast between two friends who will remain as such?

 

She opens her mouth as if she knows exactly what to say, but no words come out. And in that moment, Jon’s hand slides onto her cheek and he leans in, his lips softly touching hers. For a second, her brain can’t seem to understand what’s going on and then it explodes all at once. Jon is kissing her. It’s a light kiss – innocent and soft – and is simply his lips pressed to hers, but Jon is kissing her and Sansa thinks it’s the most amazing kiss she has ever been on the receiving end of.

 

Jon pulls back though just as Sansa thinks to reciprocate. “I didn’t…” he shakes his head and then looks at her as she blinks at him. He chuckles softly. “I was going to do that after French toast but I shot off too early,” he then admits and Sansa can’t help, but giggle at his choice of words and Jon’s eyes widen, realizing what he had just said. “Not like that!” He’s quick to say – as if she doesn’t know – and Sansa just laughs again.

 

“You were going to do that this morning?” Sansa finally is able to speak.

 

Jon looks into her eyes and nods his head and she wonders if he even realizes that his hand is still on her cheek. His hand is warm, his fingertips slightly rough, but gentle nonetheless on her skin, and she wonders how long he can possibly leave his hand there.

 

He nods. “I shouldn’t have waited until now to do that, but…” he trails off and Sansa realizes that he’s just as unsure and nervous as to what words should be said this morning.

 

“Better late than never,” she offers and Jon smiles at that.

 

“Better late than never,” he echoes and she smiles, too.

 

There is the smallest amount of space between them and Sansa inches forward, keeping her eyes on his, and Jon takes that for the invitation that it is. His lips find hers again and Sansa’s ready for it this time. Her eyes flutter shut and her lips press back to his, matching the delicate amount of pressure he is pressing to her. Jon’s other hand lifts and finds a home on her other cheek and for a moment, Sansa is unsure of what to do with her own hands before she brings them to a rest on his chest – on either side of his heart.

 

Sansa would have thought that maybe, there was a possibility of it being strange on some level to kiss Jon. After all, they’ve known each other since they were children. Well, technically, they’ve been _aware_ of one another; not know. They’ve known each other, yes, but nothing past that. She doesn’t know his favorite color or food or what his favorite memory from childhood is.

 

He may have always been there as another sibling to her brothers and sister, but Jon is such a stranger to hers, only within the past couple of months becoming a friend to her and now, becoming something _more_.

 

Sansa slowly retracts her lips at the thought. It takes her another moment to blink her eyes open and she’s quite pleased to see that Jon seems to need that time to gather himself once again as well.

 

“I don’t know your favorite color,” Sansa informs him.

 

Jon smirks at the question once his mind registers it. “I’m sure you’re able to guess it. Gray.”

 

Sansa smiles. That _does_ make a bit of perfect sense for that to be his favorite color. She then purses her lips together to keep from giggling, another thought coming to her mind.

 

“What?” He wonders and his hands slowly fall from her cheeks, but they don’t leave her. Instead, they come to rest quite comfortably on her hips.

 

Sansa instantly decides that she likes them there just as much as when they were on her cheeks.

 

“We studied colors in school and I was just remembering what I learned for gray. Cool, conservative color that is rarely seen as a strong emotion though it can be seen as cloudy or moody.”

 

Jon breaks into a smile at that. “Sounds about right,” he agrees. “What’s your favorite color?”

 

And though she knows she should have probably been expecting the question, it makes her smile nonetheless. “Pink. It is positively associated with love, beauty, charm, politeness, sensitivity, tenderness, sweetness, femininity and romantic.”

 

With each adjective she lists, Jon’s smile grows a little bit wider until he’s smiling and the corners of his eyes are crinkling. He doesn’t smile like this often, but now that he is, she is struck with just how good looking he is. She suddenly finds herself with a new goal and that is to make Jon smile just like this as much as she can.

 

“Sounds about right,” he comments and Sansa laughs. He leans in and she thinks he’s going to kiss her again, but instead, his forehead comes to rest against hers. “Is this okay?” He then asks in a low voice, his eyes looking into hers and Sansa finds herself unable to look away if that’s what she wants to do.

 

Sansa makes sure she doesn’t take too long in answering in case it makes him think that she’s not sure.

 

“Now that I know you don’t have feelings for my sister, it’s definitely okay,” she replies and that gets another smile out of him. “And this…” she pauses and swallows thickly. “This is what you want?”

 

She’s still not entirely sure what _this_ is, Sansa realizes, but maybe that’s something that doesn’t need to be discussed. At least not right now. They have kissed and Sansa’s fairly certain it’s the best kiss she’s ever had. She feels comfortable and warm and happy right now, in this moment, and looking to Jon, it seems like he’s feeling exactly the same things.

 

“Definitely what I want,” he says with a nod of his head and Sansa closes her eye, letting out a breath as if she’s sighing with relief. “Would you like some French toast now?” He asks.

 

“Yes,” Sansa smiles and she pulls her head back so she can look into his face fully. “And you know how seriously I take my breakfasts so I should tell you now that this French toast is going to be a deal breaker for me,” she says, teasing him.

 

Jon breaks into a smile that gets his eyes crinkling. “Good thing I called your mom yesterday, asking her for her French toast recipe,” he tells her.

 

Sansa laughs at that and this time, she slips her arms around his shoulders – a bit hesitantly, still, just wanting to test it out to see how it feels – and she feels Jon’s hands on her hips creep around to her back. It doesn’t feel strange or wrong. At least not to her, it doesn’t. And still testing things, Sansa leans in and kisses him.

 

Still not strange and still not wrong.

 

In the back of her mind, she wonders if there’s a man with poutier, kissable lips than Jon Snow.

 

…

 

“There we are,” Sansa smiles as she hangs the final frame on the wall and then takes a step back to admire her work, smiling, pleased with what she sees.

 

Jon has purchased the vintage photo-booth he had been thinking of and upon its arrival, he had it set up in the back corner near the pool table and decided that to test it out, he, Sansa, Tormund and Daario would all pose for their own strip of four photos. Sansa, Daario and Tormund had all had fun with theirs, silly poses and silly faces, and even Jon had joined in on the game. Sansa had now framed the four strips of four pictures of each of the Castle Black Bar employees and hung them on the wall next to the photo-booth.

 

“What do you think?” She looks over her shoulder to look at Tormund, who’s standing behind her, watching.

 

Tormund leans in for a closer inspection of his pictures. “Do you think I look a wee bit fat?” He asks.

 

Sansa lets out a huff of laughter as she rolls her eyes. “You look a wee bit adorable,” she assures him.

 

Her eyes goes to Jon’s strip of photos and she smiles at the faces and poses he is doing in each frame. She had wondered if after their kisses and breakfast together two days prior, it would be weird for some reason working together. But so far, so good. Actually, things are the same as always. They smile at one another when Sansa comes to the bar, to get another order of drinks filled and she feels his eyes on her sometimes as she works and after work, they with Daario and Tormund will sit at a table, drinking beers and counting tips. The only difference is now, he’ll walk her to her car every night and kiss her before wishing her a good night.

 

Sansa wonders when they’ll go out on their first date or if Jon even wants to go out on a date.

 

“Alright,” Jon calls out to all of them as he comes out from his office. “I’m opening up!”

 

He walks to the front door and unlocks it and flicks the switch that turn the neon signs of different beer advertisements in the windows on.

 

And it seems like no sooner has Jon stepped from the door, heading towards the bar, that the door is tugged open and Robb strides in.

 

“One Guinness, Jon,” he orders and then looks to his sister. “And I need to talk with you.”

 

“About what?” Sansa asks with a furrowed brow as Robb takes Sansa’s arm and tugs her into Jon’s office.

 

“Okay. I had to get to you before mom and dad did,” Robb says and for the first time, Sansa notices that he’s holding a magazine in his hand. “Now, promise me you won’t freak out. I know you have _every_ reason in the world to freak out, but just… we need to think of what to do with clear heads and freaking out won’t help anything so just… deep breaths, yeah?”

 

“Robb, what is it? I’m working,” Sansa says with little patience and holds out her hand for the magazine, having no possible idea what she could freak out over.

 

“Jeyne was reading the magazine and I saw it and…” he trails off then, scratching the back of his head.

 

Sansa stares down at the page Robb has the magazine open to, folded back. It’s an advertisement for _Highgarden_ – one of Westeros’ most premier fashion labels, owned by fashion designer and grandmother of her former best friend, Margaery, from college – Olenna Tyrell; the owner of the label Sansa was to intern at after graduating from school.

 

It’s advertising _Highgarden_ ’s upcoming spring collection and the dress the model is wearing…

 

“Oh my god,” Sansa whispers as she stares down at it. Her stomach drops to her feet and she feels like she can throw up right here and now.

 

“One Guinness,” Jon comes into the office, handing the pint to Robb. “What’s going on?” He then asks and Sansa knows he’s looking at her, but Sansa can’t look at anything except the advertisement.

 

The model, she’s wearing _her_ dress. Her Northern Historical inspiration dress. It’s her dress. Her design. Her… everything. Olenna stole it and is now passing it off as her own. How can she do this? She – and everyone in the South – had hated Sansa’s Northern designs. And now, Olenna has stolen them and have created her spring collection with them?

 

She feels sick. Actually sick.

 

She senses Jon standing next to her, looking down to the advertisement as well. “Fucking Southerners,” he mutters and then he and Robb are talking with one another, but Sansa can’t hear what they’re saying.

 

She can’t hear anything. The blood is roaring in her ears, blocking all other sounds out. She doesn’t even realize she’s falling and fainting until she sees the floor rushing upwards to catch her.

 

…

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/40141343941/in/dateposted/) Sansa’s Northern History inspiration dress

Beth Cassel inspiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had my writings stolen before and passed of as that person's own and it's such an awful feeling. Good thing both Ned and Robb are lawyers! And Jon and Sansa will continue to be awkward and cute with each other even with Sansa's new fashion drama. 
> 
> You guys are awesome. Thank you!


	10. Ten

…

 

“I hate being so weak around you all of time,” Sansa grumbles from the sofa, holding the glass of water he has gotten her between both hands; not sipping, but just holding it.  

 

Jon frowns at that. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he admits.  

 

“I just fainted and I hurt myself in a bar fight,” Sansa says and holds up one of her hands with the white bandages still wrapped around her palm.

 

Jon can’t help, but smile a little at that. “I don’t know. I think hearing you got hurt in a bar fight sounds pretty bad ass to me,” he comments and smiles a little wider when Sansa’s cheeks turn noticeably pink at that. “And if I found out that someone opened a bar and named it the same name as mine and began copying every aspect of it, I might faint, too.”

 

Sansa gives him a small smile, but then – he can tell – she begins losing herself in her thoughts as her face falls and she leans her head back against the sofa cushion, her eyes closing. Jon can hear the noise of the people in the bar that night and he knows that he needs to get out there and help both Daario and Tormund, but he can’t bring himself to leave Sansa right now.

 

Robb and Sansa had talked – with Jon leaning against his desk, listening – and she had said that she has _just_ given that dress to Beth because she hadn’t wanted it anymore and Beth had loved it so much. Robb had Sansa call Beth right then and there, telling her that Robb will be by tomorrow morning to pick the dress up and that night, when Sansa gets home from work, she is to find all of her sketch books of the designs she had created while down at school and get those to Robb as well.

 

Thankfully, Sansa doesn’t throw her sketches out – no matter how painful they might be to hold onto them.

 

“I wonder why they did it,” Sansa says quietly, thinking out loud. “I have all of the proof in the world that they’re mine designs and my dresses. Everyone down there completely ridiculed me for my designs and now, because someone from the _South_ has supposedly designed them…” she trails off and exhales a soft sigh.                                    

 

Jon looks down to her legs. She’s sitting across the couch, her feet at Jon’s thigh, and he looks down at the black and white converse sneakers she’s wearing and the dark jeans that hug her legs like a second skin. He wonders what she’d do if he touches her right now. He’s already kissed her – more than once – and he knows she hadn’t hated when he had. He can’t imagine her hating it now either if he reaches out and touches her.

 

_She likes you, Jon_ , he tells himself silently in his head.

 

He can’t doubt that. The way she smiles at him and the way she had put her arms around him and kissed him – more than once – and her pure happiness when he had made her French toast for breakfast, she likes him. 

 

And he likes her, too. Seven Hells, he _really_ likes her and he has to wonder why it took him so damn long – nearly their entire lives – to finally look and see her when she’s been in front of him for years. It shouldn’t have mattered that Sansa is so different from the rest of her siblings or that he was best friends with Robb and then Arya, when she became a bit older. Sansa is amazing and wonderful and the more time he spends with her, he finds himself falling and falling and he also finds himself angry at himself for never opening his eyes and making a move on her so much sooner than just now.

 

Tired of thinking it through and not just _doing_ something, Jon gently lifts her legs and then scoots closer towards her so he can drape her legs across his lap.

 

Sansa opens her eyes and looks at him and Jon looks at her, trying to read what she’s thinking. She gives him the smallest smile then and Jon smiles, too, feeling his entire body relax – he hasn’t even realized he had been tense – and his hands came to a rest on her legs.

 

“They probably thought you wouldn’t do anything,” Jon replies to Sansa. “They obviously don’t know you.”

 

That makes Sansa smile still, but again, it fades as she thinks that through.

 

“Margaery Tyrell was my best friend. We met freshmen year, requested to room together sophomore year, and junior year, and the few weeks I was there for my senior year, we had a flat together. We did practically everything together and I never would have thought it when I first met her, but we had so much in common. And now, knowing what she and her grandmother… I feel sick,” she then admits and sighs heavily.

 

“You know what can help? I’ve heard this. Have never tried it out for myself, but I can do it with you.”

 

That gets Sansa raising an eyebrow at him and he feels the back of his neck flush, knowing that she’s probably thinking that he’s implying something sexual. And that hadn’t even crossed his mind, but it definitely is now.

 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Stark,” he says and she laughs, pulling one of her legs back so she can nudge his thigh playfully with her foot and he smiles widely. “Either copious amounts of alcohol or copious amounts of candy. Your choice.”

 

“Well…” Sansa pauses for a moment. “I technically am working and I can’t drink and waitress at the same time, so I guess I’ll go for copious amounts of candy. Peanut butter M&Ms,” she then decides.

 

“After we close tonight, I’ll send Tormund out to get some from the twenty-four-hour mart down the street,” Jon readily promises her and looks down to his hands on her legs. He can’t help, but imagine what her legs would look like – bare and exposed – across his lap; his lap also bare and exposed.

 

He knows they’ve just kissed one another for the first time a mere two days before, but he can’t help, but imagine – already – what having sex with Sansa will be like. He knows he needs to reign those kinds of thoughts in. He and Sansa are _nowhere_ near that point, but he can’t help himself. He’s already imagining her coming upstairs to his flat after the bar closes for the night and lying her out in his bed and the way her red hair will look, splaying out across his white pillowcase.

 

“I’m so sorry I took so long to notice you,” Sansa says, nearly in a whisper.

 

Jon looks at her. “You’re talking like I noticed you years ago,” he reminds her.

 

Sansa smiles a little. “We’re both a little thick then,” she amends and Jon smiles, too, giving her leg a squeeze. “But like I said. Better late than never.”

 

“Exactly,” Jon says with a nod and he wants to lean over and kiss her, but he’s afraid that if he kisses Sansa right now, there’s no way he’d be working behind the bar at all tonight.

 

“Boss!” Daario suddenly calls out from the bar area as if he’s just been able to read Jon’s mind.

 

Jon exhales a breath and gently moves Sansa’s legs so he can stand up. He bends down and kisses her on the head. “Best get to it,” he says. “Take your time before getting out there.”

 

“No,” Sansa shakes her head and pulls herself up from the couch. “You’re not paying me to faint and sit back in the office all night, feeling sorry for myself.”

 

“I don’t pay Daario to hand out his phone number to every pretty girl who orders a drink from him, but here we are,” Jon says and steps aside so Sansa can exit the office first and he follows behind with a hand ghosting along the small of her back.

 

“My dad and Robb will handle this. I know they will,” she then says, almost like an after-thought.

 

Jon wishes he’d be able to do something to help her with this, as well. But fashion and fashion designers – especially when both involve the South – is so far out of his realm, he doesn’t even know what he could even suggest to do to help.

 

Sansa’s right. Robb and Mr. Stark will handle it.

 

And if he _can_ do anything, all he can do is hope that Sansa comes to him.

 

She finishes drinking down the rest of her water and Jon takes the empty glass from her. Without a word, Sansa tilts her face up and presses a kiss on his lips and Jon has just enough time to lean into her, returning the kiss with matching pressure before Sansa pulls away, giving him a smile. She reaches beneath the bar and takes her apron, tying it around her waist and then with her tray, she gives him one more look and smile and turns, heading off to see to the tables and which patron needs to order a drink.

 

Jon smiles to himself as he comes to stand behind the bar with Daario, slipping Sansa’s glass into the bin so it can be washed later.

 

“About time,” Daario comments, finishing mixing one drink and after handing it off, he begins on another.

 

“Sorry. Me, Robb and Sansa had to talk about something,” Jon says, washing his hands in the small hand sink before grabbing the stuff needed to mix two vodka martinis from the man across from him on the other side of the bar. It’s crowded in here – very crowded – and Jon feels guilty for staying in the office for so long.

 

But then, despite the noise, he can hear Sansa’s laugh over it all and he spots her, standing at a table with two guys and a girl, laughing at something that has been said to her. And looking at her, Jon wishes that the bar is already closed for the night so it can just be him and Sansa again.

 

“That’s not what I was talking about,” Daario says with a grin.

 

Jon finishes the drinks and passes them over, taking the money in return. “What _are_ you talking about?” He dares to ask, turning to ring the drinks up and slip the money into the register’s drawer.

 

A fraction of the noise from the people in the bar drowns out a bit when someone begins playing _R U Mine?_ by the Arctic Monkeys out of the jukebox. Jon immediately looks to Sansa. He knows the Arctic Monkeys is her favorite band and sure enough, her lips are moving soundlessly already, mouthing the words to the song.

 

“You and Sansa,” Daario replies, still grinning. “You’ve been staring at her ass every night for a month now.”

 

“I have not,” Jon frowns at that, grabbing a few bottles of beer, ringing them up before passing them over to the couple of guys waiting for them.

 

Daario barks out a laugh. “Sure, boss.”

 

“I haven’t been staring at Sansa’s ass,” Jon insists, still frowning.

 

“Sansa, has Jon been staring at your ass?” Daario asks when Sansa returns to the bar with a drink order.

 

Jon throws a glare at Daario and then looks to Sansa, expecting to see her horribly embarrassed over the question. Instead, though, she’s actually smiling.

 

“My sister says he has,” Sansa answers with a slight shrug.

 

Daario lets out another laugh and Jon frowns a little. He’s going to have to talk to Arya about that. He has _not_ been staring at Sansa’s ass and even if he has, that’s _his_ perverted behavior to tell Sansa about; no one else’s.

 

“Who the hell is ordering an Arnold Palmer?” Daario takes his turn to frown when he looks at Sansa’s order. He looks to Jon. “I feel like we should kick them out for ordering this,” he says as if he expects Jon to agree.

 

“She’s pregnant and she’s here with her coworkers, celebrating a promotion, and you are going to make her the best darn Arnold Palmer in the world, Daario,” Sansa tells him with a fierce frown and now it’s Jon’s turn to let out a laugh.

 

The rest of the night goes much the same: a steady stream of people and drinks ordered – Jon and Daario mixing and serving and Sansa going back and forth between the tables and the bar. Tormund has to escort two university students out – to the cheers of their friends – for taking less than appropriate pictures together in the photo booth and Jon pretends not to notice when a pretty girl gives Daario a smile and slip of paper and once she turns and walks away, Daario discreetly pitches the slip of paper into the trash.

 

Jon also spends a good portion of the night, watching Sansa – as he’s been doing for weeks now. If he hadn’t seen it himself, he never would be able to guess that just a few hours ago, she had fainted. She walks from table to table now, smiling as she always does and looking so beautiful, she almost doesn’t seem real to him.

 

He still can’t believe that he’s kissed her; that they’re moving towards something together. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but he knows that he wants to take her out. He wants to take her out to a restaurant for dinner and he wants to open doors and pull out her chair for her. He wants to walk, holding her hand, and once he drives her back home, he wants to walk her to her front door before he kisses her good-night.

 

He’s known Sansa for so many years and he hates that just now he’s finally seen her. She’s just not beautiful. Even when he hardly knew her at all, that’s always been true. Sansa is honestly one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen. But she’s so much more than that and he hates for the time he’s wasted in not seeing that. She is kind and has a warmth radiating from her that unless a person looks for it will probably miss it altogether. She keeps herself closely guarded – careful and cautious around those she doesn’t know, almost shy – but if she chooses to let a person in, she will light them on fire with that warmth of hers engulfing them.

 

Jon is more than ready to be consumed.

 

At the end of the evening, after Tormund helps the last patrons out the door, Jon takes a few of the bills from the tip jar and goes to the burly bouncer with instructions of buying the biggest bag of peanut butter M&Ms the mart has for sale. If Tormund has questions about the out-of-the-ordinary errand, he keeps them to himself and just nods his head, lighting a cigarette and then heading down the street.

 

Back inside, Daario and Sansa have already begun cleaning up from the night and Daario seems to be saying something that Sansa doesn’t want to listen to, judging by the rapid speed in which she’s shaking her head.

 

“I’m your friend, Sansa,” Daario tells her just in case there’s a part of her that’s unsure about that.

 

“You are,” Sansa confirms. “But Beth is as well and I’m not going to talk to you about her.”

 

“I didn’t ask you about Beth. I asked you about the guy she’s seeing,” Daario clarifies.

 

“Why would I tell you about him?” Sansa wonders as she moves from one table to the next to wipe down.

 

“Because I’m your friend,” Daario, again, reminds her. “Jon!” He exclaims when he sees Jon step back into the bar. “You’ve met Beth’s new bloke, haven’t you?”

 

“Maybe,” Jon shrugs.

 

Daario just looks at him – as if _Et tu, Brutu?_ – but Jon doesn’t say anything further and joins him behind the bar to help him clean up there.  

 

“Fine!” Daario declares. “At least tell me this. I’m more handsome than him, right?”

 

“Handsome is so subjective, Daario,” Sansa replies.

 

“That’s true. You’ve fallen for Snow, here, instead of chasing after yours truly,” Daario grins and then lets out a laugh when Jon whips his towel across the back of Daario’s head. “So are me and Tormund going to have to knock now before going back into the office to make sure we don’t walk in on something going on?”

 

It’s Sansa’s turn. She “casually” throws her towel in Daario’s face.

 

The front door opens and Tormund steps inside. “I got the biggest bag they had,” he announces and turns the lock behind him before walking to Sansa. “For you. And you better share,” he adds with a grin and a wink.

 

“You’re the best, Tormund,” Sansa smiles and then lifts herself on her toes so she can kiss his cheek.

 

Tormund grins. “Anything else you ever need, love, you just let me know.”

 

“Forget it, Tormund,” Daario says and grabbing the tip jar from the bar, he heads to one of the tables. “Our beautiful waitress is off the market now.”

 

“She is?” Tormund asks, his brow furrowing at that.

 

“Am I?” Sansa asks with a smile, turning her head to look at Jon. She looks like she’s teasing on the outside, but Jon can read her eyes already after just a short time of _truly_ looking into them and he knows that she wants a true answer to the question.

 

If Jon was more of a caveman sort of man, he would take Sansa’s hand, throw her over his shoulder and grunt at any one who dared to ever look at her. But Jon’s never been the sort – even if he could imagine doing _exactly_ that when it comes to Sansa.

 

Instead, he gives her a nod. “You are.”

 

That’s all he says, but it’s enough for Sansa if her small, but bright, smile is any indication.

 

He grabs four bottles of Heineken and comes out from behind the bar. As he passes her, he leans in and kisses her cheek, continuing on his way to the table.

 

“When did this happen?” Tormund asks, he and Daario already sitting down, joined by Jon and then Sansa.

 

Jon hands out the beers as Sansa carefully opens the bag of M&Ms and Daario begins counting out the tips.

 

“Too soon in my opinion,” Daario grumbles and then looks to Jon and Sansa. “If you had waited just _one_ more week…” he trails off and with a sigh, he pushes a majority of the money towards Tormund, who grins and happily pulls the bills closer to him.

 

“You had a bet on us?” Sansa asks with surprised, slightly widened eyes.

 

Tormund shrugs. “He’s been staring at your ass for a month now.”

 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that; just sighs heavily and sinks a little in his chair, sipping at his beer. Sansa sits next to him, chewing on a M&M and just smiling at Daario as he continues trying to extract answers out of her concerning Beth and “this sodding bloke” she’s dating now.

 

Jon doesn’t know what he’s expecting to see, but if he hadn’t seen the magazine for himself and knew that that was Sansa’s dress that had been stolen, he, now, never would be able to guess that _anything_ is wrong. Sansa is smiling and laughing and she seems perfectly fine.

 

He doesn’t know if he should be more concerned over that.

 

As if reading his mind, Sansa turns her head and looks to Jon, giving him a smile. He doesn’t know how to approach this subject with her, and even if he did, he wouldn’t want to do it anyway in front of Daario and Tormund of all people.

 

Jon sits up a little, turning towards her and he can’t help, but slide his hand over her knee. “Are you alright?” He then asks her, quiet enough for only her ears.

 

Sansa gives him a small smile and slides her hand over his, clasping it and giving it a squeeze. “I’m alright.”

 

Jon looks at her for another moment and Sansa squeezes his hand again.

 

He’s known her for years, but he actually doesn’t know Sansa Stark at all. He’s learning though and it’s a good thing he doesn’t plan on going anywhere because he wants to learn everything there is to know about her.

 

He wants to believe her and think that she is alright. He just doesn’t know if he actually can.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay. Work has been absolutely insane for me this week. Thank you so much for the reads, comments and kudos! I hope you like this chapter!


	11. Eleven

…

 

Sansa says that she’s alright, but she also knows that it’s bullshit. She just hopes her family and Jon can’t tell.

 

She wakes up the next morning around eleven and once she has taken her shower and is dressed for the day, she and Lady head down the stairs at just a few minutes before eleven. Her mom is in the kitchen, sitting at the table, a piece of poster board in front of her, decorated with different colored sticky notes and Sansa knows Catelyn is working on a seating chart for an upcoming Women of Winterfell event. But that’s not what makes Sansa stop right in her tracks.

 

Ned Stark is sitting at the table across from Catelyn – home at noon on a weekday. He is reading papers stacked in a pile in front of him and when they hear Sansa enter, both Ned and Catelyn lift their heads, smiling when they see her.

 

“Good morning, dear,” Catelyn smiles.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sansa immediately has to ask.

 

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” Ned wonders.

 

“Because you’re home,” Sansa points out to him, thinking that her reason for asking the question is obvious.

 

Every morning, nearly without fail, her father leaves the house for the offices of Stark & Stark at eight o’clock and is home every evening, promptly at five o’clock for dinner. Having Ned home at noon is jarring simply because it’s something that does not happen.

 

“Would you like breakfast or lunch, dear?” Catelyn asks, standing up from her chair. Without waiting for Sansa to answer – already knowing her answer – Catelyn comes, kisses Sansa on the cheek and then goes to take the carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

 

“Sansa,” Ned says, still smiling, and all he says is her name.

 

Sansa approaches the table and Ned pulls out the chair next to him, silently inviting – telling – her to sit down. She does so, eyeing the papers in front of him. She doesn’t know how she does, but she seems to know that these papers involve her.

 

“I need your signature on a few things,” Ned tells her as he begins pushing some of those papers towards her while also handing her a pen.

 

“Copyright infringement?” Sansa’s eyes scan the top piece of paper; an official lawsuit that her father is going to file – Sansa Stark vs. Highgarden and Olenna Tyrell. “I didn’t have my dresses copyrighted though,” she looks to her father with a slight frown; one of confusion.

 

Ned doesn’t say anything to that at first. He reaches into a file folder and pulls out her sketches – which she always dates at the bottom along with her initials – and then copies of the student newspaper from the University that covered the disastrous fashion show; the date of the issue circled and highlighted.

 

“Looks copyrighted to me,” Ned comments.

 

Sansa stares at the picture posted on the front, above the fold – a picture of one of the student models wearing one of her dresses. “ _A Northern Flop”_ screams the headline and she stares at those words. She had thought that since a couple of months had passed, the stings of the wounds would be all, but gone, but Sansa sees those words and knowing the scathing review continues on inside the paper along with more pictures of her dresses and it is like dumping an entire salt shaker over a million tiny papercuts.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes to look at her father. “You really think we could sue them?”

 

“We can and we will,” Ned says and it’s said as a firm promise. “They’ve stolen from you, Sansa, and no one should be able to steal from a person and get away with it. Especially when they steal from a Stark.”

 

Sansa doesn’t know why, but that makes her want to laugh. She leans back in her chair and wipes at her cheeks as if she thinks she’s crying even though her cheeks are dry.

 

She trusts her father. Ned Stark is an amazingly talented lawyer and there is no way that anyone could possibly deny that. If her father thinks that he can sue one of the largest and most popular fashion lines in all of Westeros – and _win_ – Sansa knows that she shouldn’t doubt him. Still…

 

“Here, dear,” Catelyn returns to the table and sets down a plate of two fried eggs and two slices of toast. She then leaves again only to return with Sansa’s preferred jar of lemon marmalade.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa manages to smile up at her and Catelyn leans down to kiss her on top of her head.

 

Sansa will never tell her that the idea of eating right now makes her want to maybe throw up, but her mother makes amazing eggs and it _is_ breakfast.

 

As she eats, she signs on each dotted line that her father points to. She doesn’t know exactly what she is signing, but if her dad needs her to sign, she’ll sign. She’s still so unsure about all of this, but she trusts her father and she knows Ned would never steer her wrong.

 

When she signs the last page, Ned takes the pen from her and then covers her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze and Sansa gives him a small smile.

 

“We’ll make it right, Sansa,” he says, giving her his own small smile. “I promise you.”

 

Sansa feels tears begin to form in her eyes and she nods her head quickly. She honestly doesn’t want to cry. And she honestly doesn’t even want to think about it. She feels as if someone has taken pictures of her naked body and have spread them all over the internet. She feels exposed and the level of hurt and pain she feels, she’s never experienced anything like it before so she has nothing to compare it to.

 

There has been one thing in this world that she’s loved doing more than anything else and it’s been taken away from her. She has sketched a dress, but that had only been one design, one time, where as she used to sketch every day – whenever she had a spare moment – and her sewing machine is collecting dust in her room. She looks at it sometimes and she can’t bear the idea of touching it.

 

 _They_ took it away from her. The South, the University, the Tyrell family and people she had thought were her friends. She should have known better. She was just some stupid little girl who had to learn the hard way. Going South to school had been all she had wanted to do. The South, after all, King’s Landing – in particular – is the fashion capital of Westeros and the North… well, the North is her home, but it couldn’t provide her with the opportunities that Sansa sought for herself.

 

Although they are all part of the same continent, the North and South have always been on complete opposites of the spectrum in all ways and Sansa hates herself for not realizing sooner rather than later that what she wants will never be found in the South. The South takes people, chews them out and spits them out again like they’re nothing. Sansa hopes she won’t be expected to attend any court in the South because for the rest of her life, Sansa already has plans to _never_ leave the North again.

 

“What will happen if we win?” Sansa hears herself ask, nearly in a whisper, the toast like sawdust in her throat, but she manages to swallow it down.

 

“ _When_ we win,” Ned corrects her. “We’ll be awarded damages and then, you can pursue and do anything you want.”

 

Anything you want.

 

Those are three words that most people love to hear. To have the funds to pursue their dreams, that’s what most people want in this world.

 

But Sansa hears those words and she feels a churning in her stomach that she knows aren’t from her mom’s eggs and toast. She hears those three words and all she can think of is the immense pressure that will be put upon her and the expectations her family still has for her that she is to be more in this life than a bar waitress because while there’s nothing wrong with her family thinking she’s capable of doing amazing things, why can’t working at Castle Black Bar be one of those amazing things?

 

…

 

“You alright?” Jon asks when she comes to the bar with her empty tray and newest drink order.

 

Sansa nods and does her best to give him a smile, but Jon is looking at her, clearly not believing her. He just keeps looking at her and she almost finds it frightening how well Jon knows her after just a couple of months. She is able to have the most stoic of faces, but even now, when she is keeping all emotions at bay, Jon can still look at her and know that it’s all bullshit; still know that there’s definitely something going on and that what it is, she’s not alright.

 

“I mean it, Jon,” Sansa manages to give him a smile that’s just a bit bigger and bit more genuine. “And if I’m not, I would tell you.”

 

“Would you?” Jon asks her with the slightest tilt of his head and his question full of open curiosity.

 

“I would,” Sansa answers and she completely means it. “Do you think I could spend the night with you tonight?” She then blurts out and Jon’s eyes widen in surprise and Sansa feels the same surprise and she almost laughs at the suddenness of her suggestion and catching Jon so off guard. “Just sleep,” she then is sure to add because while she likes Jon – _really_ likes him and liking him more and more every day – but she still can’t see herself getting naked for him. “I don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice and I really like your flat and I felt comfortable there-”

 

“Yes,” Jon cuts in. “Yes. Please spend the night.”

 

Sansa smiles and this time, it spreads across her face and stays there. She won’t tell him that she loves her family, but right now, she just can’t stand the idea of going home tonight. After this morning with her father, she feels like maybe – hopefully – she’ll be able to breathe a lot easier in Jon’s flat.

 

Jon smiles, too, and exhales a deep breath. “New order?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa looks down to the piece of paper, still smiling, her heart beating a bit (a lot) more rapidly.

 

She will be sleeping with Jon tonight. She’s going to be in his bed, feeling his body next to hers, feeling the heat coming from his body and she wishes that the bar was far closer to closing time than it is right now.

 

“I need one Long Island iced tea, two cosmopolitans, one apple martini and one mint julep,” she reads.

 

“Damn, a mint julep?” Jon asks.

 

Sansa feels her eyes widen. “Can we not make those? She ordered it and I just thought you could make anything. I can go tell her that we don’t have the right things to mix it-”

 

“No, no,” Jon reaches out and takes her hand as if to stop her though she hasn’t taken one step away from the bar. “I can make it. I just need my cheat sheet. I haven’t made it for a long time.”

 

Sansa smiles and watches as he mixes the first four drinks with absolutely no problem. When it comes to the mint julep, he takes a deep breath as if he’s preparing for surgery or something of the same ilk. Sansa thinks he looks ridiculously adorable with some of his black curls hanging in his face and he tilts his head down to make sure he has everything needed in front of him. He looks down to the card of mixed drinks for a moment, studying it and then he begins – Sansa leaning forward so she can watch him.

 

Sugar and water, mix together, add mint and then stirring-

 

“Lightly muddle,” Jon says. “And make sure to swab the sides of the glass with the mint.”

 

Sansa nods, learning as well as him.

 

Fill glass half full with crushed ice. Add bourbon and stir. Add more crushed ice and stir again until the glass frosts up. Add a few more mint leaves to the top. Jon takes a straw and dips it into the drink and then takes that end of the straw, tasting it on his tongue. He pauses for a moment and Sansa nearly holds her breath.

 

“Okay.” He sets the drink down on Sansa’s tray along with the other drinks. “Have her try that. Send her to the bar if it’s absolutely awful and I’ll try making her another one.”

 

Sansa beams as she takes the tray. This is one of the reasons why she found herself falling for Jon in the first place. He loves this bar and he wants to make sure that everyone else loves it, too.

 

“Thank you, Jon,” she smiles warmly and she feels him watching her as she makes her way back to the table of the five women.

 

They are all wearing wedding rings and are dressed in jeans and when Sansa had come up to take their order, she had overheard one of them complaining about someone getting after-school detention. Sansa thinks they are all mothers, getting a bit of a break from things at home and wanting to come to the bar for a night off.

 

“Jon’s the bartender and the owner and he says that if this isn’t good, he wants you to come see him,” Sansa says as she places the mint julep down in front of the woman who had ordered it.

 

“That is so sweet of him,” the woman smiles, her cheeks a faint pink, and Sansa can’t help, but watch the woman as she brings the glass to her lips for the first small sip. The woman then smiles and leaning back in her seat, she looks towards the bar and gives a thumbs up. Sansa beams and turns her head to see Jon watching and now smiling broadly at the woman.

 

All of the women are smiling and giggling as if they are much younger than they actually are and Sansa blushes as Jon gives her a quick wink before turning around towards the POS system.

 

“Honey, he is adorable,” the apple-martini woman informs Sansa just in case Sansa doesn’t know.

 

Sansa’s blush deepens. “I think so,” she agrees, smiling. “I’ll check back on you in a little bit,” she promises and with a parting smile to the women, Sansa heads to check in with her other tables and see if they need refills or their final bill.

 

The bar isn’t necessarily crowed that night, but it’s not slow. It’s steady and Sansa prefers these kinds of nights. Tormund mans the door and there aren’t any drunken idiots, starting fights or needed to be escorted out into a car, Daario and Jon are in their places behind the bar, mixing drinks and popping beer bottles open, and Sansa goes between the tables and the bar, constantly having an order to place or an order to deliver.

 

Around nine, Sansa hears an “Oh my god!” and then a young woman in her mid-twenties hurries to the bar, her friends left at the pool table, laughing.

 

She is talking to Jon and after a moment, Jon nods his head – seemingly reluctant, but he nods nonetheless – and he turns towards the television on the wall over the bar and begins pressing the button, switching the stations. When he stops on VH1, an old episode of _Rock of Love_ is playing and the entire bar – even the table of moms, even Tormund – cheer when they see it. Jon puts the volume up to full power so everyone can hear it and it seems like there is a marathon on of old VH1 reality shows.

 

Around eleven, none of the customers have left. The table of moms are even still there. No one is playing pool. No one is playing a song on the jukebox or taking their pictures in the photo booth. Instead, every seat at the tables are taken as are the stools at the bar and everyone is watching the marathon of _Rock of Love_.

 

Sansa makes sure everyone has the drinks they want before she makes a quick stop to the bathroom. After relieving herself and then washing her hands and taking a paper towel to dry them, she pauses and looks to her reflection in the mirror.

 

It’s getting closer to closing time and Sansa feels a fluttering in her stomach as if she’s nervous, but she’s not. She’s actually surprised at how she’s not nervous at all. Should she be nervous? This is Jon. He would never do anything that would make her uncomfortable. She can trust him – with anything and everything.

 

Even with her heart if she decides to take that plunge completely.

 

She knows she’s not ready to yet, but maybe, one day…

 

Actually, Sansa can see herself – quite easily – giving her heart to Jon and falling completely for him.

 

She smiles at her reflection. It’s so weird how things work out.

 

_Better late than never._

When she opens the door to step back into the hallway, she can’t help, but jump with surprise when she sees Jon leaning against the wall, opposite the women’s bathroom, clearly waiting for her.

 

“When Jeor Mormont gave me the money to open this place, do you know what his will told me?” Jon asks and it’s clear that he’s not expecting her to answer so Sansa stays quiet and comes to lean against the wall next to him and Jon answers his own question. “No special cocktail nights, no ladies’ nights and no karaoke nights,” he says and ticks off each item on his fingers.

 

“So that’s why you tell Daario no to karaoke all of the time,” Sansa comments with a smile. “I was wondering if there was something more to it. No one hates karaoke _that_ much.”

 

“Jeor also hated niche bars,” Jon continues. “His was just a bar and people came and drank their beers and watched their sports and that was it. You know what someone just asked me? If I’m going to have a trashy reality TV night every week.”

 

Sansa keeps her lips pursed so Jon doesn’t see her smiling. It’s a little bit adorable how distressed he sounds.

 

“I don’t care showing _Rock of Love_ because I know this is a one-time thing and not every week. Could you imagine having a reality TV night every week?” Jon looks at her and she’s still keeping her lips pressed together. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

 

Sansa can’t hold it in anymore. She lets out a laugh and then leans in close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s a _little_ funny.”

 

Jon just huffs and she lets out another laugh. She lifts her head up from his shoulder and kisses his cheek.

 

“It’s fun,” she states.

 

“It’s a niche, Sansa. Castle Black Bar is not a niche,” Jon frowns.

 

Sansa just smiles and kisses his cheek again. He really is _so_ adorable.

 

Jon turns his head towards her and for a second, she thinks he is going to kiss her, but instead, he dips his head down and his nose follows the line of her jaw, making her shiver, and then he presses a single kiss on the side of her throat and Sansa is amazed that she finds herself moaning softly. It’s a simple kiss and yet, it’s probably the most erotic kiss a guy has ever given her.

 

And hearing her moan, Jon turns himself fully towards her and one of his hands slides over her hip and he kisses her throat again, his nose nuzzling against her as if he’s a cat.

 

“Sansa!”

 

Sansa is slow to open her eyes and Jon is slow to lift his head, both of them looking to see who is coming in the hallway.

 

“Hey, you two,” Beth smiles happily when she sees the two of them together.

 

“Hi,” Sansa says and she’s quite happy to see that she actually remembers any word of the English language.

 

“Jon, that is such a good idea,” Beth says. “Showing old episodes of trashy VH1 reality shows? Everyone is loving it.”

 

Jon just groans and turns his head back towards Sansa’s throat and Sansa laughs, lifting her hand and combing it through the curls on the back of his head.

 

“Have you been here long?” Sansa asks, looking to Beth.

 

“Not long. Pyp and I went out to a late dinner and then I wanted to show him the bar,” Beth replies.

 

Jon lifts his head so quickly, it startles Sansa and she looks at him with wide eyes. Jon hardly seems to notice though as looks at Beth.

 

“Pyp’s here?” Jon asks her. Sansa hadn’t understood at first, but she definitely understands now.

 

Beth has brought Pyp here while Daario is bartending? That’s not good. At all. Daario is an idiot and will be quick to show off to Beth that he’s the better man even if that means making an ass of himself in front of both Beth and Pyp and the entire bar.

 

“Yes, but it’s fine,” Beth assures them both. “Daario didn’t even see us come in and I was waiting for you to get back to the bar, Jon, so I could order drinks from you and not Daario and… it’s fine, Jon!” Beth insists when she sees Jon and Sansa both just staring at her. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on. I like being here and I’m not going to stop coming here just because of Daario.”

 

Sansa knows Beth isn’t malicious. Not in the least. And it's not like she's sitting around, thinking of how to make Daario jealous. She is seeing Pyp now and she likes coming to Castle Black Bar and she would want to show the man she’s dating why she likes being here. Sansa knows that Beth isn’t trying to do anything other than that. But Sansa – and she loves Beth – is thinking that Beth is being just a tad bit naïve about this if she thinks that Daario won’t care about this.

 

She looks to Jon as he looks at Beth and it’s obvious to Sansa that he’s thinking the exact same things.

 

But before any of them can say anything further, a glass suddenly smashes onto the floor out in the bar and they hear a voice – quickly identified as Daario – shouting as a few patrons start shouting, too.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!! I wanted Sansa spending the night for the first time to be from Jon's POV and that will be in the next chapter. I feel like there hasn't been that much Jon/Sansa alone time so I will definitely be changing that.


	12. Twelve

…

 

_“Your employees can look at you as if you’re their friend, but you don’t look at them like their yours.”_

Jon hears Jeor’s words of advice echoing in his head as he looks to Daario standing on the other side of his desk. Daario, to his credit, looks appropriately guilty and genuinely apologetic. In all of the time since Jon has opened this bar, he’s never had to discipline any of his employees. They know he’s the boss and they respect that and they know that he’s the one in charge, but he’s never had to pull an authoritative rule over them – except when he’s denying Daario’s countless request for a karaoke night.

 

Tonight, though, Jon has to be the boss. He _is_ the boss and this place is his very livelihood. He’s not going to let anyone take it away from him; no matter how much he likes Daario and looks to him as one of his friends – though heeding Jeor’s advice silently in his head, Jon will not say as much.

 

It’s an hour later and the bar is completely empty, closed and cleaned up for the night. Jon has given everyone their drinks on the house before telling them that the bar was closing a bit early. Jon had stood at the door, thanking everyone who had come that night – having to make the promise more than once that yes, he would show another night of old trashy reality TV – and once it was just the four bar employees, Sansa and Tormund were sweeping up the remnants of the pint glass that Daario had practically thrown at Pyp’s face when Daario had realized just who Pyp was and Jon told Daario to come into the back office.  

 

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Daario begins.

 

“We had a fight in here a few days ago,” Jon reminds him. “Sansa got hurt. And now, this. I don’t want Castle Black Bar to get a reputation that it doesn’t deserve, Daario, or a reputation that would _ruin_ this place.”

 

“I know-” Daario nods, but before he can say anything further, Jon presses on.

 

“Everyone here tonight, it looks like you threw a glass at a customer, Daario, and I can’t have that. I can’t. This bar is everything to me and no one is going to take it from me.”

 

Daario stays quiet, knowing that right now, it’s not the time for him to speak.

 

Jon pauses and then sighs heavily. “I’m going to have to suspend you until further notice.”

 

He expects Daario to speak up, but the man doesn’t argue, having absolutely nothing to say to argue the punishment. He just gives Jon a single nod of his head. He then goes to his locker to collect his coat and scarf. Jon stands up. He feels guilt in the pit of his stomach though he reminds himself that he has every right to punish Daario and he knows that if he wanted to, he would have every right to fire him right now instead of just suspending him.

 

Still, when Daario leaves the office without a word and a moment later, Jon hears the back door opening and closing once again and Jon seems to deflate in his chair, tilting his head back, releasing a heavy sigh and blinking up at the ceiling. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, he thinks dryly to himself.

 

He knows he’s the boss and there are things he has to do because of it, but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

 

When he finally comes out of his office, Tormund has left as well, leaving Jon to himself in the office and not wanting to disturb him; not even to say good night. Sansa is the only one who remains. The bar is completely dark except for the neon advertisements hanging in the windows, still turned on, and she’s perched on a stool. He stops when he sees her there, clearly having been waiting for him.

 

“Why didn’t you go upstairs?” Jon wonders.

 

Sansa shakes her head and gives a little shrug. “I wasn’t sure… Do you still want me to spend the night?”

 

“God, yes,” he answers without hesitation and even in the dark of the bar, he can see the blush on her cheeks and Jon wonders how much of an asshole he is for being grateful that Sansa left the South and came back home and started working here because if none of that had happened, she wouldn’t be here at all.

 

And how selfish does that make him? Sansa’s dream had always been to go South and be a household name with her clothes. But instead, she’s here, being a waitress in his bar and he tries not to think about how happy he is to be able to see her every day and have her here with him because he knows, deep down, she doesn’t belong here. Jon wonders how long he has her until Sansa realizes that for herself.

 

He closes the distance between them. Sansa uncrosses her legs and Jon finds himself standing between her knees. He looks into her eyes and Sansa looks into his. He lifts a hand to one of her cheeks, feeling it warm. If he decides to dwell on it, it would surely confuse him as to why he feels so comfortable around her.

 

Jon has always been the sort to stand in the background; preferring to be in a corner and watch rather than put himself out there for everyone to see and know. Robb would have parties in high school – taking place in the basement of the Stark home, which honestly, was just as plush and nice as the rest of the house above them – and Jon would be the same. He would sit on the couch for most of the night, playing video games with a few of the other guys. Sansa is two years below them and she began inviting a small group of her own friends to these parties – though they weren’t really parties and rather just get-togethers for pizza, sodas and music – and Sansa was the complete opposite of Jon in those types of settings. She went from one person to another, speaking with just about everyone, laughing and dancing with her friends, never being still a moment. And everyone just loved her; wanting to have her attention on them even for just a brief second.

 

He’s known the Starks for most of his life – is as close as a brother to four of them – but Sansa has always been such an unknown entity to him.

 

Being here now, standing between her legs in his nearly-completely dark bar, feeling her hands come to a rest on his hips, Jon feels nothing, but comfortable with her touching him and him touching her – both doing so as if they’re absolutely familiar with one another instead of just at the cusp of beginning to learn each other. Maybe that’s why he feels so comfortable though; because he doesn’t know her and everything he learns, he just finds himself falling deeper and deeper and he has no urge to rush upwards for more air.

 

He leans in and his lips brush across her forehead before he steps away from her, going towards the switch on the wall, turning off the neon signs and making sure the front door is securely locked. The bar is completely dark now, but when he turns back towards Sansa, he can still see her, aided by the street light on the street outside, shining through the window.

 

She has slid off the stool and stands there, waiting for him, giving him a smile and Jon smiles in return, walking back towards her and taking her hand in his. She had gotten the bandages off a couple of days earlier and he likes feeling her cool, smooth skin tucked into his. Without a word, he leads her to the door that opens to the staircase that leads up to his flat and without a word, she follows behind him.

 

She hasn’t asked him about Daario and what he wound up doing about the situation and he’s grateful for it. He doesn’t regret suspending Daario. He knows it had been the right thing to do. He just doesn’t want to talk about it and Sansa seems to know that. At least he tells himself that Sansa knows him that well already. He likes the idea of it.

 

He flips the switch on the wall so the light at the top of the stairs, outside his flat’s door, turns on and they’re not tripping upwards in complete darkness.

 

It doesn’t escape him that within just a short time, he and Sansa will be lying in his bed together, _just_ sleeping. He won’t be surprised if he doesn’t sleep for even a minute tonight.

 

Inside the flat, Ghost dances excitedly around them though Jon notices that the dog is paying just a bit more attention to Sansa than to him, but it’s not like Jon can blame the dog.

 

“I texted my mom to let her know I wasn’t coming home tonight,” Sansa tells him as he closes and locks the door behind them and she’s still rubbing Ghost behind his ears. “She said that Lady is going to be sleeping at the front door tonight, waiting for me.”

 

“Next time, Lady can stay over, too.” Jon swallows. “Is she alright with you being here?” Few things make him scared in this world, but there are definitely two things that do. One is his own mother and the second is Catelyn Stark.

 

Sansa smiles at that as she straightens and looks at him. “My mom knows I’m an adult, Jon,” she says.

 

“That didn’t really answer the question,” he points out to her.

 

Sansa just continues to smile and she steps to him. Jon doesn’t think or hesitate or analyze. He just lifts his hands to her cheeks and gently pulls on her head; though he doesn’t really have to because Sansa moves in quite willingly. His lips dip down to hers and then he’s kissing her, feeling her kiss him back; feeling her slim arms slip around his waist, stepping in as close as she can and pressing her body against his.

 

Sansa specified that she just wants to sleep tonight and Jon is more than alright with that. He doesn’t know if he’s honestly ready for Sansa to see him naked yet – soon, yes, but not this soon – but that doesn’t mean that he can’t kiss her until both of them are gasping for breath.

 

Eventually, he does have to pull away. Sansa just smells too good and feels too good with her body pressed against his and she’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and he can just imagine how good she tastes between her thighs. It’s that last thought that finally gets his lips to remove themselves from hers.

 

Sansa is panting just as heavily as he is and that makes Jon smile, glad he’s not the only one effected.

 

“I have a spare toothbrush and I’ll get you something to sleep in, too,” Jon says and she nods, visibly swallowing, working on catching her breath.

 

He buys those packs of 4-toothbrushes at the store so he goes into his linen closet and gets the purple one he has yet to use. Sansa takes it with a smile when he hands it to her and she then follows him into his bedroom.

 

He does his best to not look at her as she sits, cross-legged and looking extremely comfortable, on the foot of his bed, scratching Ghost behind his ear once more as Jon goes to his chest of drawers, trying to think of what Sansa can wear to sleep in that night that won’t drive him completely mad. That’s the problem though. He can bundle Sansa up in a pair of his sweatpants and his heaviest sweatshirt and it won’t matter because she’ll be wearing _his_ clothes and sleeping in _his_ bed and he needs to act like a damn grown man and not some randy boy who’s never been alone with a girl before.

 

“Here we are,” he turns towards her, having decided on a pair of sweatpants and his old _Jeor’s Pub_ employee tee-shirt.

 

Sansa smiles at the offerings, standing up once again, taking them from him. “Thank you,” she hugs them to her chest. “And thank you for letting me stay tonight. I know I kind of invited myself-”

 

Jon doesn’t let her say another word before his hand slides onto her cheek and he kisses her. “You want something to drink before bed?” He asks, pulling his lips back.

 

It takes a moment for Sansa to open her eyes again. When she registers his question, she shakes her head and when she sees him smiling, amused by her, she pinches him in the arm, which gets a laugh out of him.

 

When Sansa goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, Jon changes into his own pajamas as fast as he can – sweatpants and a plain black tee-shirt – and with a pounding heart, he leaves the bedroom, trying not to envision Sansa changing on the other side of that bathroom door.

 

In the kitchen, he leans against the counter and drinks from a glass of water, watching as Ghost chomps down on some of his dry kibble in his food bowl. It helps to be away from Sansa – just for a second. It calms his racing heart and steadies his breath so it doesn’t sound like he’s just finished running a marathon.

 

Sansa is spending the night tonight. Sansa is wearing his clothes and will be sleeping in the same bed as him. He gets to wrap his arms around her and fall asleep, smelling her scent and falling asleep to her breathing.

 

He had no idea how badly he wanted Sansa to spend the night until she popped the suggestion to him earlier. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. They have _just_ kissed, after all, but as soon as Sansa asked if she could spend the night, Jon is fairly certain that he’s never wanted anything more.

 

He just finishes the last of his water when he hears the bathroom door open and then he sees Sansa standing in the doorway of his bedroom, looking to him in the kitchen, and he nearly groans at the sight of her in his sweatpants and tee-shirt and he dares someone to show him a sexier woman than Sansa Stark. 

 

“Those things look far better on you than they ever have on me,” he comments and he can see Sansa blushing from here, but she’s smiling, too.

 

He turns and sets the glass down in the sink. “You ready for some sleep?” He asks, looking back to her.

 

Sansa smiles and nods quickly.

 

Jon makes sure the door is locked one more time and as he joins her in the doorway, he wraps an arm around her waist, playfully pushing her towards the bed and he smiles as she laughs. He keeps his arm around her waist as he pushes the covers back. Sansa slips her arms around his neck and he releases a shaky breath when she leans into him and kisses the corner of his jaw.

 

“Stop doing that,” he frowns.

 

“Stop what?” She asks and she blinks at him, looking completely innocent, and it nearly makes him growl. “Jon!” She then exclaims in the midst of laughter as Jon spins her around and practically tackles her onto the bed and she keeps her arms around him, keeping him close, and Jon gratefully stays on top of her.

 

It’s Jon’s turn to lower his face and press a kiss to the side of her throat. He hears the shaky breath Sansa now releases – right in his ear – and he is quick to realize that being on top of her is definitely not the place to be.

 

As casually as he can, Jon slowly slips his body from hers so he’s lying next to her rather than on her, but he keeps his mouth to her neck. Sansa seems to like when he kisses her there – her breathing hitches and she holds him just a little bit tighter. He likes this part of a relationship; the part where they’re finding out things about one another and learning what the other likes and doesn’t like.

 

Is that what he and Sansa have? A relationship? That’s what he wants and he knows that Sansa isn’t the sort to have flings. When Sansa had a boyfriend in high school, she began dating the boy her sophomore year and they were together for two years and he actually doesn’t know if she had dated anyone while in the South. Robb or Arya had never mentioned it, but maybe that’s because Sansa hadn’t confided in them about a guy.

 

He’s dated a couple girls – one serious relationship that had lasted for a couple of years and at a time, he had thought he would actually propose to Ygritte, but thank the Gods that he never did – but he thinks it can be different with Sansa. _Better_.

 

“Jon,” she whispers his name and with her hands on his cheeks, she guides his head from her neck and guides it down to hers.

 

Jon is more than happy to kiss her. He does so – slowly and thoroughly, acquainting himself with her taste; getting drunk off of her and knowing she’s better than any drink he could possibly make. He feels Sansa’s fingers in his hair, her mouth opening against his, tasting him as he’s tasting her, and he’s glad that he’s moved himself off of her. He doesn’t need her to feel how much he can’t control himself right now.

 

With Ygritte, he had loved her. He wouldn’t have been with her for so long if he hadn’t loved her. But they just didn’t have that much in common and it had taken him far too long to realize it. Ygritte loves drama. Loves it. She basks in it. And yes, Sansa might have drama going on in her life, but she, personally isn’t dramatic. She might have been when they were all younger, but Jon has a feeling that being a teenage girl and being dramatic go hand-in-hand.

 

He hates the idea of Sansa going down South and changing completely because of that place and what it did to her, but Jon wonders if this is who Sansa has been all along and he’s just been too stupid to ever see it.

 

Jon knows he’s not old – that he’s still a young guy – but he’s not looking for drama. He’s looking for something serious and true and he’s looking to have that with a girl he feels completely comfortable spending his free time with and with a girl who understands that he owns his own business and sometimes, that is going to take up the majority of his time.

 

Sansa giggles then against his lips and Jon pulls his head back, smiling, looking down to her face.

 

Christ, she’s beautiful, and her long red hair looks perfect, spilling across his navy blue pillowcase. He always wants her hair spilling across his bedsheets. He bets the rest of her – her pale body – will look just as perfect.

 

“I can’t feel my lips and I’m about to yawn in your mouth,” she confesses.

 

“That’d be sexy,” he says with a wry twist of his lips, breaking into a smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle when she thumps him in the shoulder with her first. “Want to sleep?” He asks.

 

Sansa nods. “Please.”

 

He gives her one more light, quick kiss and then they both separate so they can get comfortable, Sansa rolling onto her side, facing him, and Jon turns off the lamp on the bedside table before slipping beneath the covers, pulling them back up over the both of them and laying down on his own side, facing her.

 

She smiles, looking at him, slipping a hand between her cheek and the pillow. “This doesn’t feel weird,” she then says in a whisper; as if the dark bedroom and the late hour requires a quiet tone.

 

“Did you expect it to feel weird?” Jon asks.

 

“A little,” she admits. “Didn’t you?”

 

Jon thinks that question over, and after seriously giving it thought, he shakes his head with his eyes never leaving hers. “It feels right.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Dickon will make another appearance in the next chapter and I can't wait for what I have planned.


	13. Thirteen

…

 

“You don’t have to go,” Jon murmurs to her, his fingers tangled in her hair and his lips on her jaw.

 

Sansa smiles, her fingers twisting in the cotton of his tee-shirt. “I really do though. I need to get home and see Lady and I need to take a shower.”

 

“You can shower here,” Jon says and Sansa feels a warmth in her chest she’s never experienced before, but has always wanted to; the warmth of being wanted. Wanted by a man and not just for making out purposes.  

 

There had been boyfriends – not that many at all, by any means. One truly serious boyfriend in high school whom she had dated for two years and then one for about all of four months in her junior year of college. Both relationships had been nice and that is all Sansa can say about them. This with Jon though, it is nice, but it’s so much _more_ as well. Already.

 

“You have a 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner,” Sansa points out to him. “That’s terrible and never works. I have to go home to _my_ shower.”

 

Jon lifts his head so he can look into her face. “Tonight, when you spend the night again, bring _your_ shower things then,” he says with a smile, his tone light, but his eyes are dark and not at all teasing.

 

Sansa stills as she looks into those eyes. “You… you want me to spend the night again?” She dares herself to ask and she knows that Jon wouldn’t make fun of her and yet, she finds herself steeling herself for him to start laughing at her nonetheless.

 

Jon just looks at her with his serious eyes; looking and studying her and her throat feels so dry, she tries to swallow, but there doesn’t even seem to be any moisture in her mouth to help.

 

“Of course I want you to,” Jon answers her. “But only if you want to. I know I can sometimes kick in my sleep…”

 

Sansa feels herself smiling and she shakes her head. “I can be a bit of a cover thief.”

 

Jon smiles, too, and with his hand slipping to the back of her neck, he leans in and kisses her on the lips. “Please spend the night again tonight, Sansa,” he says in a quiet voice.

 

“Yes,” Sansa hears herself answer him before she can even really give herself any time to think of his question. She can just feel Jon kissing her and Jon asking her to spend the night and she feels a bit light-headed from it all because she finds herself liking this man more and more with each passing day and she can hardly believe that this man seems to be liking her the same amount in return.

 

Jon exhales then, as if he’s been holding his breath as he waits for her answer, and he smiles then and the sight of it makes Sansa smile, too.

 

“Would it be alright if I brought Lady with me?” She asks.

 

“Of course,” Jon readily agrees. “I know you two are a package deal.”

 

Sansa is the one to lean in this time and kiss him, her hands lifting from his sides to sweep up his chest.

 

She wonders when he got so fit. She remembers when he and Robb were young teenagers – going through that awkward phase that everyone went through; still children, but growing closer to adulthood. It’s as if one night, he went to sleep and the next morning, Jon Snow woke up and had defined and toned muscles. Sansa knows she’s not the only one to take note of his body – even in the simple jeans and tee-shirts he seems to wear every day – though both articles of clothing seem to always be quite tight. It seems like half of the women who come to Castle Black Bar come so they can smile and gawk at Daario, but there are two bartenders and Sansa is very well aware that the other half of the women who come in come to gawk at Jon.

 

She can’t necessarily blame them for it, either. Most just smile at him and take their drinks, but some of the more bold ones will ask what he’s doing later that night once the bar closes or they’ll lean a bit too far over the bar so Jon can see their cleavage. Sansa has never considered herself to be a necessarily jealous person, but she wonders how she’ll handle those flirty women now that she and Jon have shared a bed together. They haven’t done anything except kiss, but still. She will boldly say that Jon is hers now if she has to.

 

At least it’s Monday and the bar is closed this evening and she won’t have to think of what she might do.

 

“Oh,” Sansa says before she can help herself.

 

“What?” Jon instantly pulls his head back to look at her, his brow furrowed with concern.

 

“It’s Monday. You have your movie night with Robb and Sam tonight,” Sansa remembers. She then shakes her head and manages to swallow. “I shouldn’t spend the night tonight.”

 

Jon’s furrowing brow deepens. “Because Robb will be here? He’ll be gone by ten. Our movie nights don’t last _that_ long. We’re all old men now.”

 

She slowly lets her hands drop from his chest. “No, not because Robb will be here,” Sansa says with a shake of her head even though _yes_ , that’s exactly why.

 

Sansa knows Robb loves her and she loves Robb, but she doesn’t know if she’s ready for her older brother to see her come over to his best mate’s flat with her dog and overnight bag. She knows it’s just her imagination, but she also pictures Robb looking to Jon and asking him with a raised eyebrow, “Seriously? Her?”

 

She knows Robb wouldn’t do that and yet, her stomach knots at just the _idea_ of it; the idea of Robb wondering what on earth Jon sees in her because they’re just so different and Robb and Arya love her, Sansa knows, but they absolutely love Jon and she can just see her siblings trying to set him up with someone better. She can’t bear to see the questioning look in Robb’s eyes if she shows up at Jon’s flat tonight.

 

“You can come to movie night,” Jon then suggests, having no idea what she’s thinking right now. “We order pizza and drink beers and I’ll make sure I have Heineken for you and Robb and Sam can just deal with it because I’m letting you pick the movie tonight. Anything you want to watch, we’ll watch it.”

 

Sansa feels her lips beginning to move upwards in a smile, but she’s able to catch herself in time and looks down to her hands instead. Jon’s hands are resting on her hips, holding her in place, and she can feel his eyes settled on her. She thinks about those confident girls who come into the bar, throwing smiles at him and Daario, seemingly having no fear or double-guessing in their actions.

 

Sansa used to be confident. More than one person had confused that confidence with being stuck-up. She wonders if Jon had ever thought that about her. Her siblings – except for Bran – have all called her a snob at one time or another, and she admits that she sometimes used to have a tendency to be one in particular situations, and she wonders if Jon has ever agreed with them.

 

She’s not like that anymore. She knows that. She went South. She changed. But does anyone know that?

 

Jon _must_ know. She can’t imagine Jon wanting anything to do with her if she hadn’t changed.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says her name, quietly, breaking through her thoughts.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes to find that he’s still looking at her and only her. He’s wearing the sweatpants and tee-shirt he wore to bed much earlier that morning and his black curls are in disarray on his head. The sight makes her smile and she doesn’t think anything of lifting her hands to try and tame a few of them.

 

She thinks of what he had said earlier; about their kissing and being together.

 

 _It feels right_.

 

This, trying to control his curls, feels right to Sansa, too.

 

And Jon seems to agree if his fingers squeezing her hips ever so slightly and his eyes sliding shut at her touch is any indication.

 

Sansa wants to kiss him again, but she is able to keep herself from doing so. Thankfully. She knows that if she kisses Jon right now on those ridiculously plump lips of his, she won’t be going anytime soon and she really needs to get home and see Lady and take a shower and wash her face with something other than just water.

 

“You know what really annoys me in movies?” Sansa speaks suddenly.

 

Jon opens his eyes to look at her, staying silent and waiting for her to continue.

 

“When a girl wakes up, gets out of bed and _immediately_ gets starting dressed. She doesn’t brush her hair or teeth or wash her face or even go to the bathroom. It’s ridiculously unrealistic and it always annoys me.”

 

Jon pauses a moment and then breaks out into a smirk. “I get it. Go home and wash your face.”

 

Sansa smiles, feeling laughter bubbling in her throat, and with her hands still tangled in his curls, she lifts her lips and despite her earlier thought, she kisses him. Jon’s hands instantly squeeze her hips and pulls her body in close to his and Sansa finds herself wrapping her arms around his neck, parting her lips, moaning softly as his tongue slips into her mouth.

 

Jon is such a good kisser. It’s not surprising even though before she began working for him, Sansa had never thought of his skills as a kisser; or even him as a person, but since she’s kissed him, she is completely unsurprised at how good he is at it. Someone with his lips _has_ to be good at kissing.

 

She can’t help, but giggle at the thought, and Jon pulls back, looking at her with open curiosity.

 

Sansa just shakes her head though. “Thank you for letting me spend the night,” she says to him instead.

 

Jon smiles and he lifts a hand to her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek. “Come tonight to movie night,” he says in that quiet voice of his that always seems to make her want to shiver.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Sansa says and she means it.

 

She _will_ think about it, but just because she will think about it doesn’t mean that she’ll actually come. She can’t come to movie night with Jon and Sam and Robb because although she loves Sam and she loves Robb and she… well, she _something_ towards Jon, she can’t come. Not yet. Not when she and Jon are still so new. Maybe, in a few more Mondays, if she and Jon are still something in a few more Mondays…

 

“Even if you don’t come for movie night, you and Lady will still spend the night?” Jon asks and his hands are still grasping her hips and it seems as if he still isn’t ready to let her go anytime soon.

 

“Yes,” Sansa answers and this time, it’s not something she has to think about.

 

She will come back tonight. She’ll come back as long as Jon keeps asking her to.

 

…

 

When Sansa unlocks the front door, Lady is immediately there, jumping on her and her tail wagging a mile a minute. Sansa laughs and kneels down on the floor in front of her, allowing Lady’s kisses and rubbing Lady behind her ears.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home last night,” Sansa says to her. “But I’m here now.”

 

Lady licks her chin and Sansa lets out another laugh before kissing her on the head and getting to her feet again. She heads into the kitchen, Lady right at her side, and Sansa’s eyes are drawn to the yellow post-it stuck to the refrigerator door.

 

_Brunch with Sybelle Glover. Will be back by one and I’ll bring you leftovers! Xoxo Mom_

Sansa smiles when she reads the note and then after tossing it into the trash, she gets herself a bottle of water from the refrigerator and then heads up the stairs, Lady following behind. She’s going to take a shower and change into fresh clothes and then she’ll eat something more than the bowl of Coco Pops Jon had offered her after they had both woken up that morning.

 

“I promise. I’ll have something better for you tomorrow morning,” Jon swore to her as he handed her the bowl and Sansa had laughed even as her heart had flipped over and over in her chest.

 

Sansa strips her clothes off, promptly dropping them into the hamper, before going into the bathroom. As expected, Lady drops herself into a heap on the rug in front of the toilet. Sansa turns the water on in the shower and then, as she lets it get to the desired temperature, she takes a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror.

 

There is no denying just how well-rested she looks and how _happy_. Just thinking about how happy she feels, Sansa finds herself smiling and not able to wipe it from her face. And not being able to wipe the smile from her face, it just makes her smile more until she’s almost laughing and she puts her hands on her cheeks and lowers her eyes from her reflection, but still, she keeps beaming.

 

She can’t remember the last time she felt this happy. She would think, given everything else that is happening in her life, she would have trouble finding anything to smile about, but she's been truly happy ever since Jon kissed her for the first time in his flat before proceeding to make her French toast, and after this morning of waking up, hearing Jon’s soft snores from beside her and feeling one of his arms slung heavily over his side, she laid there for a moment, slowly waking up, feeling the warm sun through the window on her face. Her feet had been exceptionally warm and she lifted her head just enough to see that Ghost was stretched out along the end of the bed, serving as a foot warmer just as Lady does when Sansa is home in her own bed.

 

Sansa laid her head back down on the pillow and closing her eyes, Jon mumbling something and his arm tightening, she had felt the first smile of the day creep across her face.

 

As she climbs into the shower, sighing happily as the not-too hot, but still hot, water bits her skin, Sansa wonders if Jon is unable to stop smiling himself this morning as well. She hopes so. She hopes that he’s thinking about her and not able to stop himself from smiling, too.

 

Jon Snow doesn’t smile that much. Even when they were all children, he was always a bit on the brooding side. But working with him nearly every night and seeing him for hours on end, Sansa has learned that Jon Snow does, in fact, know how to smile and do it on more than a rare occasion. He’s beautiful when he smiles – especially when it’s a smile big enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle.

 

She hopes that when Jon thinks about her, his thoughts lead to a smile that big.

 

After her longer than usual shower – in which she also makes sure to shave her legs and under her arms – Sansa dries her hair enough to where it’s not dripping and she gets dressed for the day while also thinking about what she is going to take to Jon’s that night. She wonders if spending the night two nights in a row in his flat is moving things too quickly. Should she text him and say that she won’t be able to spend the night? She wonders if he’ll mind. He’s having his friends over tonight and she doesn’t want to show up too early and if she shows up too late, what’s even the point of spending the night then when she’ll have to take Lady back home and return in just a couple of more hours for work?

 

Downstairs, she hears the front door open.

 

“Sansa!” Catelyn calls out. “I’m home! And I’ve brought leftovers!”

 

Lady lets out an excited bark and Sansa leaves her bedroom to hurry downstairs. She’ll go back to thinking about Jon and her night plans later. Right now, she has leftovers waiting for her.

 

“Puff pastry breakfast!” Sansa exclaims when she goes into the kitchen and she sees her mom open the lid of the carryout container on the breakfast. “Thank you!” She throws her arms around her mom’s neck and Catelyn laughs, hugging her in return.

 

“We’ll heat it up a bit for a few minutes,” Catelyn suggests, going to turn the oven on.

 

Sansa is already licking her lips and she’s ready to tell her mom she doesn’t care how cold it is, but she is able to stop herself. Her mom takes the puff pastry with the fried egg and strips of bacon folded into it and places it into the oven and Sansa decides she can wait a few more minutes. She goes to the Keurig coffee maker instead and pulls down a mug from the cabinet.

 

“Did you have a good night?” Catelyn asks.

 

Sansa hesitates for only a moment before she nods, truthfully. When she had texted her mom the night before that she would be spending the night at Jon’s flat, Catelyn had simply said that Lady would miss her and then wished her sweet dreams.

 

She reminds herself what she had told Jon. Her parents know that she’s an adult and as an adult, she might spend the night at her boyfriend’s flat occasionally. Boyfriend. Is that what Jon is?

 

“I did,” Sansa remembers to answer. She waits for her cup to finish brewing.

 

“I was thinking of you and Jon last night,” Catelyn continues.

 

Sansa pauses as she is stirring cream into her coffee and lifts her head to look at her mom. Catelyn, however, has her head bent down, going through that day’s mail on the counter.

 

“You were?” Sansa asks.

 

“I was thinking about how when you were both younger and he would always watch you when you came into a room,” Catelyn says and there’s a faint smile pulling at her lips as if the memory amuses her. “He probably thought he was being so sneaky, but your father and I both caught on fairly quickly.”

 

Sansa finds herself staring at her. “He did?” She asks and her voice is hardly a whisper.

 

“Your father and I always thought he had a crush on you, but we also knew that if he did, he wouldn’t do anything about it.” Catelyn continues on as casually as can be and doesn’t seem to note Sansa’s mouth, slightly hanging open as her mind processes the dump of information just heaped upon it.

 

“Why not?” Sansa manages to ask.

 

Catelyn finally lifts her head and continues to smile as her eyes land upon Sansa. “You know how protective your brother is of you and Jon and Robb are as close as brothers. It doesn’t surprise me that Jon would have some sort of code to not pursue Robb’s sister. And you didn’t really notice him yourself back then.”

 

That breaks through Sansa’s somewhat mind-fog and she shakes her head, sighing heavily. “I was such an idiot back then,” she says in a thinly-veiled disgusted tone.

 

Catelyn comes to her and rubs a hand on her back. “I don’t think that and you shouldn’t either. You’ve never been an idiot, Sansa. Both of you were just different people when you were younger and you both went through the things you had to go through to find one another now, at the right time.”

 

Sansa blinks at her mom. “We’re just… we’re just spending time together,” Sansa struggles to say because right now, her mom is talking as if Sansa and Jon are soulmates or something of the same entity and that’s just… it’s _far_ too soon to think of anything like that.

 

Catelyn doesn’t say anything. She just smiles and the oven beeps then and she goes to collect the puff pastry. Sansa doesn’t remember putting the creamer away in the refrigerator or taking the first sip of her coffee or sitting down at the table to eat her very late breakfast or listening as Catelyn talks about the newest WoW fundraiser she and Sybelle Glover had come up with during their brunch.

 

All Sansa seems able to do is think of Jon when they were younger and had Jon really watched her back then? She knew that Jon knew her name and he knew her as Robb’s younger sister – and then as Arya’s older sister – but anything more than that, Sansa had just assumed that Jon had just been like her and hadn’t thought of her at all. But her parents wouldn’t just make something up like that and both imagine the same thing.

 

Sansa wonders, if she asks Jon about it, would he admit to it? Is there even something to admit?

 

She jumps slightly when her phone suddenly vibrates and she has completely forgotten that it is in the back pocket of her jeans.

 

 _Not to be the pressuring sort of man, but I figured I’d give it another shot. Would you please reconsider coming over to my place earlier tonight for movie night?_ Jon texts her.

 

If Catelyn notices that Sansa is not listening anymore - or at least pretending to - and is now looking down to her phone with a smile on her face, it doesn’t stop her from continuing to talk and Sansa pauses for only a moment before texting a reply.

 

_Only if I can get you three boys to watch “The Princess Bride” with me._

Almost immediately, she sees the three dots “…” as Jon types out his answer.

 

And when he does and Sansa sees what it is, her stomach flips so rapidly, she seriously worries that she is about to lose her puff pastry breakfast all over the table and her face is on fire with her blush.

 

_As you wish._

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Slight_ change to my outline. I wanted Dickon to appear again from Jon's POV so it has been pushed back to the next chapter. THANK YOU so much for the support and love you have shown this story so far.


	14. Fourteen

…

 

“So, you’ll agree to meet with him?” Sam asks.

 

Jon does his best to not sigh. There’s no reason to sigh as if he’s about to grant his best friend the biggest favor. Sam is actually trying to help _him_ out at the moment, knowing that Daario is suspended for the time being and Jon is going to need help behind the bar.

 

“Will he have the time? He’s still taking classes and he already has a campus security job,” Jon says.

 

Sam nods. “Dickon will have time,” he assures his friend. “And I have a feeling he’ll love bartending far more than sitting behind a security desk in a student dormitory.”

 

Jon says nothing to that. He just finishes putting the Coke cans in the refrigerator that he has taken from the stores in the basement. Hours earlier, he has made sure he has grabbed more than enough Heineken bottles for Sansa even though he knows she usually only drinks one so they’ll be nice and cold for when she comes tonight. He doesn’t want her to think that he’s trying to get her drunk, but he does want her to know that he has her favorite beer and he wants her to be comfortable when she comes over here. He _hopes_ that this is the beginning of a habit for both of them – Sansa over here more times than she’s not.

 

Jon knows it’s probably too soon for this. Way too soon for any of this. Yet, he can’t help, but want it all the same. He woke up this morning with his nose in Sansa’s hair and her feet tangled with his and he laid there with a smile on his face because just a few months ago, he had never thought of Sansa Stark being in his arms, but now that she had been there, Jon sure as hell doesn’t want her anywhere else.

 

“Tell him to come by tomorrow. We open at four, but the others don’t get there until six when it usually picks up. If he comes at five, I’ll have a chance to test him out while it’s quiet,” Jon says, standing straight and tossing the empty box into the garbage in the corner of the kitchen.

 

“Thank you, Jon,” Sam exhales, smiling and relieved. “What movie are we watching tonight?” He asks, going to the refrigerator and taking out one of the beers.

 

Jon hands him the bottle opener and he’s already smiling. “It’s a surprise,” is all he says.

 

He can’t wait for Sansa to come tonight. He knows she had been hesitant and he didn’t mean to pressure her, but he didn’t want her to be hesitant. Yes, Robb is going to be here tonight, but that shouldn’t make her nervous. If anyone should be nervous, it should be Jon. He, after all, is the bloke who’s been staring at his sister’s ass for the past couple of months.

 

It doesn’t matter if he and Robb are closer than brothers. Sansa is still Robb’s sister and Robb has always been Sansa’s personal champion. No guy has ever been good enough for Sansa and in Robb’s eyes, no guy ever will be. Her previously boyfriends, Robb had hated them. They hadn’t been bad guys. A bit bland and boring, in Jon’s opinion, but Robb had made it no secret that no matter who the guy is, he’s not good enough for his sister. And the instant Robb finds out tonight about Jon’s feelings for said sister, Jon is going to be lumped in the same category as every other randy nitwit who has panted after Sansa in the past.

 

He has just taken a can of Coke from the refrigerator when the buzzer rings out and he instantly smiles. He already knows it’s Sansa.

 

He goes to the wall to answer the buzz. “Sansa?” He presses the intercom button.

 

“Yes, I’m here. Lady, too,” Sansa answers and Jon’s smile only grows upon hearing her voice.

 

He knows that Sam is probably watching him and he knows that he probably looks like an idiot, smiling the way he is right now, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care about either of those things. He has just seen her that morning after he was finally able to let her and he already can’t wait to see her again.

 

“I’ll come down and help you,” Jon says and after pressing the button to unlock the door, he sets his Coke down and hurries from the flat, heading down the stairs.

 

Sansa has just opened the door and is guiding Lady inside. There is a small gym bag over her shoulder and a cardboard box in her arms. She lifts her head when she hears him coming down the stairs and her smile is instant. Jon swears that he can feel his stomach flip just at the sight of her and that smile.

 

And then Jon finds himself having that awful thought; that thought he tries so hard to ignore all of the time.

 

_Thank the Gods she didn’t make it in the South._

And he feels like such a selfish prick anytime he has that thought and he can only hope that Sansa never gains the ability of reading his thoughts because if he hates himself for having thoughts like that, he can just imagine the reaction Sansa would have to them.

 

“Hey,” Jon says and he’s unable to stop smiling.

 

“Hi,” Sansa greets him with her own smile and she seems to be blushing as she looks at him.

 

Lady is dancing excitedly at his feet, smiling up at him, and Jon grins at the dog, giving her an ear rub as he takes the leash from Sansa’s hand.

 

“Did you bring it?” Jon asks, looking back to Sansa.

 

“Of course, I did,” Sansa says, still smiling at him. “I can’t wait to see you three boys watching it.”

 

Jon looks at her and he wants to kiss her and he finds himself wondering why the hell he’s hesitating. He knows they haven’t had _that_ conversation, but for fuck’s sake, they’ve shared a bed together and he’s already kissed her so many times. If he _doesn’t_ kiss her, Sansa might think something is wrong.

 

Sick of his own thoughts, Jon takes his other hand not holding onto Lady’s leash and sliding it onto the side of Sansa’s neck, his thumb swiping along her cheek, he leans in and kisses her. He instantly feels Sansa’s lips pressing back against his and it almost makes him think that she’s been wanting him to kiss her as badly.

 

When they were younger and Jon had a couple of girlfriends throughout high school and university, he never dated a redhead; not that he had thought of Sansa Stark that much, if at all, but he seemed to know that if he dated a redhead, he’d probably be thinking of her all of the time.

 

When he met Ygritte, he was in his last year of university and he felt instantly drawn to her – despite the red hair – because she was so different from him; different from everyone he knew really. And Ygritte being so different from everyone – especially the other redhead he knew – it was impossible for Jon to think of anyone else when he was with her for two years. But in the end, they had just been _too_ different and Jon didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be finding it with Ygritte.

 

And now, he’s kissing Sansa and he’s wondering if he’s on his way to finally finding something he wants.

 

“Ready to head up?” Jon asks once their lips part so both can breathe once again.

 

He sees Sansa’s eyes going past his shoulder to look up the stairs and she hesitates for another moment more before she looks back to him and nods her head. Jon can’t help, but give her a smile and he leans in, kissing her temple.

 

“After you,” he says and steps against the wall so Sansa can head up the stairs first. “What’s in the box?”

 

“I have no idea. I found it on your doorstep and the label is in Beth’s handwriting,” Sansa tells him.

 

“Beth?” Jon’s brow furrows at that.

 

Inside the flat, Ghost is happy to see Sansa so soon again, but he’s really happy to see Lady, the two dogs circling and sniffing one another, their tails never stopping with their wagging.

 

“Hi, Sansa,” Sam smiles warmly at her and Jon wonders why his best mate doesn’t seem surprised in the least to see Sansa here with her dog and an overnight bag hanging on her shoulder.

 

“Hi, Sam,” Sansa smiles just as warmly and they hug one another.

 

Sansa has set the box down on the counter and Jon grabs his keys so he can cut through the packaging tape. There is a pink envelope on top of the foam peanuts inside and Jon opens it, pulling out the card inside.

 

_I am so sorry for the damage I caused last night in your bar. I suppose there are still parts of me that are ridiculously naïve and I can only hope that you forgive me (and don’t ban me from your bar). Please enjoy my attempt at an apology. I got up early to make them. I hope you like them. ~ Beth_

Honestly, Jon is a bit surprised. It had never crossed his mind to be mad at Beth for what happened. Daario’s a grown-ass man and Beth’s not responsible for his actions. Should she maybe not have brought the man she’s dating when the man she used to sleep with is working? Probably. But still. Daario’s actions – and his subsequent suspension from work – is on Daario.

 

Jon sets the card aside and then sifts through the packaging peanuts. Still. He’s not going to turn down the plastic container of chocolate chip cookies that Beth has baked and mailed to him.

 

The buzzer rings again. “Hey. I got Hot Pie’s with me.” It’s Robb.

 

Sansa has gone into the bedroom to put her bag away, but at the sound of her brother’s voice, she appears in the bedroom doorway, looking a little pale.

 

Jon hands Sam the container of cookies and on his way to the intercom, he gives Sansa’s hip a gentle squeeze. He hits the button to unlock the downstairs door and he then turns to look at Sansa.

 

He takes a step closer to her. “We don’t have to tell him anything,” he tells her in a quiet voice so Sam can’t overhear and he hates the way the offer settles bitterly on his tongue, but he doesn’t take it back.

 

If Sansa doesn’t want her brother to know then Jon is prepared to act as if he and Sansa are nothing, but friends and he will have to spend the rest of his night, very aware of every single one of his actions so nothing raises Robb’s suspicions.

 

No,” Sansa shakes her head. She lifts her hands and they pause in the air for a moment before she brings them to rest on his chest. “I want to tell him.” Her words are quiet, but her tone is firm.

 

Jon smiles and swoops in to give her a kiss – just as the door opens and Robb steps inside, a pizza box in his hand. And the instant he sees Jon kissing his sister – and realizing after a second that it’s his _sister_ – his easy smile slides into a scowl.

 

“What the hell is going on?” He asks, closing the door behind him, purposely more forceful than necessary.  

 

He doesn’t pay attention to Ghost and Lady, greeting him. He keeps his eyes on Jon and Sansa even as he goes to put the pizza down on the counter.

 

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but Sansa beats him to it.

 

“Jon and I are seeing one another,” she answers.

 

Robb just keeps frowning and he’s not looking at Sansa. Instead, he has his eyes zeroed in on Jon and he keeps them there. “Since when?” He asks.

 

Jon answers this time. “It’s been a few days now, but I’ve been wanting her for over a month now.”

 

If possible, Robb’s frown deepens even further. “You _want_ her?”

 

“He’s been staring at Sansa ever since she began working downstairs,” Sam pipes up, already helping him to a slice of the pizza. “Haven’t you noticed?”

 

“No,” Robb is all, but growling now. “My best friend and my sister?”

 

“Stop, Robb. You’re sounding like Ross right now,” Sansa jumps in.

 

“ _Don’t_ insult me further by calling me Ross,” Robb says, glancing at her before back to Jon. “Of all girls, Sansa? Really?”

 

Sansa takes a step away from Jon so suddenly then, Jon whips his head over to look at her. She’s looking down to the ground though and he can see her fingers visibly trembling as she fidgets with them in front of her. He can’t see her face – her hair down and acting like a curtain. He wants to reach out and take one of her hands, but maybe he shouldn’t do that in front of Robb. Screw it. He absolutely should do it in front of Robb.

 

Jon reaches out and slips one of Sansa’s hands into his and she lifts her head to look at him. It looks like she’s about to start to cry and Jon doesn’t see the reason for it. Yes, Robb is overreacting and being a bit of dick, but that’s directed towards him, not her.

 

He gives her a small smile and squeezes her hand and then looks back to Robb. “Yes. Sansa. She’s amazing and you know she is. And I’m not good enough for her. We both know that-”

 

“You sure as hell aren’t good enough for her,” Robb cuts in.

 

“He’s not?” Sansa asks and Jon looks back to her to see her eyes slightly wide, as if surprised, at her brother. “You don’t think _Jon_ is good enough for _me_?”

 

Robb’s brow furrows at her, but this time, it’s out of confusion. “Of course I don’t think he’s good enough for you. He might be my best mate, but you’re my sister. No guy’s good enough for you.”

 

Jon is watching Sansa, a bit confused with her response to Robb, because it looks like she is still about to start crying, but then she breaks into a smile and almost begins to laugh, before letting go of Jon’s hand and hurrying to Robb. She throws her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tightly.

 

“You think Jon isn’t good enough for me,” she says and her voice shakes – a mixture of tears and laughter.

 

It’s evident Robb has no idea what’s going on – Jon doesn’t either – but he pats Sansa on the back nonetheless. She then pulls back and gives Jon a near blinding smile and Jon has no problem returning it.

 

“What movie are we watching?” Sam asks, having settled himself down into one of the armchairs with his pizza and bottle of beer.

 

“I let Sansa pick,” Jon says.

 

“ _The Princess Bride_ ,” Sansa answers with a smile.

 

Robb instantly groans. “Whipped already, Snow?” He then asks as he gets himself a plate.

 

Jon looks to Sansa as she shows Sam her DVD of the movie while happily chattering away about it.

 

“Definitely,” Jon replies.

 

“You’re still going to be getting my big brother speech,” Robb informs him.

 

Jon just keeps smiling as he keeps watching Sansa. “I look forward to it.”

 

A bit time later – with Robb in the other armchair and Jon and Sansa sharing the couch, all eating pizza and drinking from their Heineken bottles – Robb groans again at the scene on the television screen.

 

It is the scene where Buttercup finds out that the dreaded Pirate Roberts is, in fact, her beloved Wesley – right after she has shoved him down the mountainside.

 

 _“As! You! Wish!”_ Wesley calls out as he falls.

 

“I hate this scene,” Robb is practically scowling.

 

“You hide it well,” Sam quips.

 

“Why did she _throw_ herself down after him? She should have just run,” Robb keeps frowning at the screen.

 

“It speaks about their entire relationship,” Sansa answers in defense of one of her favorite movies. “He tumbles, she tumbles.”

 

Robb just rolls his eyes and gets up to get himself more pizza.

 

Jon can’t help, but watch Sansa far more than watch the movie. He likes the sound of that. He tumbles, she tumbles. Hell, he feels like he’s already tumbling and he can only hope that Sansa is right there with him.

 

…

 

Jon leans against the rows of bottles behind him, arms folded over his chest, as he watches Dickon make him an old-fashion. It’s the drink he had had Daario make for him before hiring him as well. Jon thinks that if a person can make the perfect old-fashion, they’ll be a damn good bartender.

 

As it usually is, Tuesday is quiet in the bar so far with just one patron sitting at the bar and two more playing a game of pool in the back. There’s a reason he had had Sansa’s first night working be a Tuesday night. It’s generally a quiet night, few people wanting to get sloshed on a Tuesday when they have work the next day and they’re still not close enough to the weekend to justify a few more drinks then necessary.

 

Dickon finishes and then turns to hand the glass to Jon just as the door opens and Sansa enters. Dickon looks over his shoulder to see who has come in and when he sees Sansa, he instantly smiles.

 

Jon refuses to be jealous of this _much_ taller, handsome man smiling at Sansa.

 

Instead, he decides to focus on the drink and find anything wrong with it, but unfortunately for him, he can’t. Unfortunately for him, his best friend’s younger brother can make a damn good old-fashion.

 

“Hey,” Jon says to Sansa, holding off on telling Dickon that.

 

“Hi,” Sansa smiles at him and she comes around to behind the bar, leaning in and giving Jon a kiss.

 

Jon also refuses to puff his chest out at Sansa giving him a kiss in front of Dickon. This isn’t some farmyard and he’s not going to strut around like he’s top cock.

 

“Did Tormund talk to you?” Sansa then asks.

 

Jon nods. “I told him not to worry about it. It’s Tuesday and even if it wasn’t, family first.”

 

Sansa smiles and then looks to Dickon. “Hello,” she greets him with a kind smile. “How’d you do?”

 

“Waiting for the verdict,” Dickon says with his own smile – a smile that looks a little _too_ happy directed towards Sansa, in Jon’s opinion.

 

Both Dickon and Sansa look to Jon as he takes another sip. After another moment – he’s purposely dragging it out, he admits – Jon nods and looks to Dickon.

 

“You can start tonight. Have some paperwork I need you to fill out,” Jon tells him.

 

Dickon’s smile is so wide, it looks like it’s about to split his face in half. “Thank you so, so much Jon.”

 

“Congratulations, Dickon,” Sansa smiles at him. She kisses Jon’s cheeks and then leaves to go into the back office to drop her things off.

 

“I don’t know how long my usual bartender will be gone, but I will appreciate the help,” Jon tells him. “You get Sundays and Mondays off, unless Sundays are far busier than normal like it was this past week. Then I might call you in.”

 

“Got it,” Dickon readily agrees.

 

After leaving Dickon behind the bar for the moment, Jon goes into the back office to get his forms and to give Sansa a proper kiss without other eyes around to watch.

 

Sansa smiles against his lips as her arms slip around his shoulders and he holds her body tight to his.

 

“So, my mom and dad want you to come over for dinner tomorrow,” Sansa says once their lips part.

 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that at first. He just silently raises an eyebrow and she laughs silently.

 

“If you’re wondering if this is a meet-the-new-boyfriend dinner, you’re absolutely right,” Sansa tells him.

 

Jon smiles a little, too. “Great,” he replies as a knot already begins to form in his stomach.

 

And rightly so. Yes, he has known Ned and Catelyn Stark for nearly his entire life and they have – more times than not – treated him like another son, but now, he’s the guy who’s dating their precious daughter and all former thoughts and opinions about him will vanish in light of this new fact.

 

He’s been present at one of these dinners – the first time Sansa brought her boyfriend in high school home to meet her parents. Ned Stark is not an easy father to get on the good side of, but he’s nothing compared to mama-wolf Catelyn Stark.

 

“Jon?” Dickon knocks on the open door and stops himself in the doorway when he sees Jon and Sansa with their arms wrapped around one another, their faces still close to the other. “Sorry to interrupt, but Sansa, there’s a woman who’s just come in, asking for you.”

 

“Is it Beth?” Sansa asks, her arms slowly falling away from Jon.

 

Dickon shakes his head. “No. She says her name is Margaery Tyrell. She says she’s a friend of yours.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean to take that long between updates, but unfortunately, life happened and I don't approve of that. Thank you so much for reading! There will be a Daario POV/Beth scene in the next chapter.


	15. Fifteen

…

 

Beth isn’t going to lie. She’s completely shocked when Daario buzzes her in and despite her nerves, she climbs the familiar stairs to his familiar flat’s door on the second floor. She pauses a moment, taking a deep breath, before raising her fist and knocking lightly. She can feel her knees trembling and she tries to tell herself that there’s absolutely no reason to be so nervous. This is Daario. Just Daario.

 

 _Who you’re still madly in love with_ , Beth’s inner thoughts decide to torturously remind her.

 

That doesn’t matter, Beth tells herself. Yes, she loves him, but she and Daario are just on two completely different pages. They have nothing in common and want none of the same things. Beth wants to get married. There. She said it. She wants to get married and have a husband and be someone’s wife and have children and a house and Daario wants to spend his free time with as many of the opposite sex as he possibly can. It had been fun when they had first begun, but as Beth fell for him, it stopped being fun and it just began to hurt. She knows it sounds cruel, but that’s how she looks back on her time with Daario. Hurtful.

 

She’s not in love with Pyp, she knows that, but with Pyp, she can see herself falling in love again. And all of those dreams and future plans she imagines for herself? She can easily imagine having them all with Pyp.

 

She hears the tumble of locks and then the door is being pulled open.

 

“You look terrible,” Beth says before she can stop herself from doing so.

 

Daario just snorts at that and without a word, he turns, shuffling back into the apartment. Beth follows behind him, closing the door behind her. He doesn’t say anything as he drops himself back onto the sofa.

 

It looks as if he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep – the bags beneath his eyes obvious – and his beard somehow looks even scruffier than usual. He’s wearing a loose pair of gym shorts that hang to his knees and a wrinkled tee-shirt. And it’s ridiculous, but Beth can’t help, but think how handsome of a man he is before she mentally slaps herself. Thinking Daario is handsome is how she’s gotten herself into this mess in the first place. There’s more to a man – and having a relationship with said man – than just being handsome.

 

“I just wanted to check and see how you were,” Beth breaks the silence.

 

“Just great,” Daario grunts and sitting up on the couch, he leans forward and begins searching for something on the coffee table in front of him. “Jon’s put me on suspension from the bar for going after that tosser of yours. Can’t have me attacking customers, he said.”

 

“Don’t call Pyp a tosser,” Beth frowns.

 

“Pyp,” Daario repeats the name, nearly grumbling it under his breath. “Sounds like a right tosser.”

 

“Daario,” she sighs heavily at that. “Do you think we can speak like actual adults to each other?”

 

“Fine.” Whatever he’s been looking for, he gives up on finding and he stands up again, turning towards her. He crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring her own stance. “Tell me about your wonderful Pyp. What does a tosser like him do?”

 

Beth frowns at him and for a moment, she is quite tempted to just turn and leave this flat and try to figure out what on earth she had been expecting, coming to see him.

 

“He works at the bank with me. He’s in charge of our small-business loan department,” Beth answers him. She knows she doesn’t owe Daario any answers whatsoever and yet, there’s a part of her – a very petty part – that wants him to know just how wonderful Pyp is.

 

“What else? He have his own place? A flat or a house? Any roommates? Pets?” Daario fires off.

 

“What does it matter, Daario?” Beth asks.

 

“It matters, Beth,” Daario all, but grounds out. “This is the tosser you dumped me for. I want to know how me and him measure up.”

 

“I didn’t dump you, Daario,” Beth snaps and just as always, Daario is getting a rise out of her. He always does. It’s almost like he gets off on it. He loves to poke and prod her and annoy and anger her and she always hates herself for letting him have any kind of upper hand over her. What is it about him that she seems incapable of stopping him from having any control over her? “To dump you, that would have meant that we were together. And we weren’t in the least. I was just the girl you screwed in the bathroom of the bar or came knocking on my door after your shift when you didn’t want to sleep alone.”

 

“Stop with your sanctimonious bullshit, Beth,” Daario snaps back. “Stop standing there and acting like you didn’t like me screwing you in the women’s bathroom or like you didn’t open your door to me every time. I never forced you into doing anything we did together. You _wanted_ it just as much as I did.”

 

“You’re right. I never stopped you. I wanted to do those things as much as you did because I thought if I did, you would-” she stops herself abruptly, not wanting to say anything further; unable to believe that she had almost said the thought in her head. But no. She needs to say this and he needs to know. “I thought if I did what you wanted, you would start to fall in love with me, too. And it was only after we were done, doing those things, did I let myself admit how much I hated myself and how pathetic I was and how dirty I felt.”

 

Daario has gone completely still, staring at her; obviously taken aback at her words.

 

Beth knows tears will be coming soon, but the last thing she wants to do in front of Daario is start crying.

 

She has had so many stupid thoughts and dreams in her mind when it came to this man standing in front of her and she has no one to blame for them except herself. Daario never promised her anything. He never gave her false hopes or false implications that he wanted any of the same things that she did. She took their purely-sexual relationship and built it up to some fanciful grand romantic story in her mind. It’s not Daario’s fault. She can be mad at him all she wants, but Beth knows it’s not his fault. He doesn’t love her and she can’t be angry concerning him that his feelings towards her never matching her own for him.

 

“Beth,” Daario says her name and takes a step towards her.

 

Beth quickly shakes her head and counters back with a step of her own. “I love going to the bar and Sansa is my friend and I like visiting her so I don’t want to stop going to the bar just because…” she trails off, unsure how to complete that sentence, and she waves a hand back and forth between them.

 

Daario visibly swallows and he won’t stop looking at her and he shakes his head. “You don’t have to stop coming to the bar, Beth. You have every right in the world to keep going to the bar and if you want to bring Pyp… I’m just going to have to nut up and deal with it.”

 

Beth almost finds herself thanking him for that, but thankfully, she’s able to stop herself before she can. There’s no reason to thank him. Castle Black Bar is Jon’s and if anyone can tell her she can’t come into the bar anymore, it’s Jon.

 

She doesn’t know what else to say to him. She’s only been here for just a few minutes, but she feels completely exhausted and she still has to go work a full day at the bank.

 

She manages to give him a small, strained smile – not caring if he deserves it or not – and she turns to the door. She doesn’t know why she had come. She had said she wanted to check on him, but why should she care, either way, how he is? She needs to move on. She _wants_ to move on and she thinks she’s ready to.

 

“I’m sorry,” Daario says though before she can leave.

 

She pauses and keeps her back to him.

 

“I’m sorry I made you feel those things, Beth,” he presses on. “I didn’t know you felt like that and if I knew…” he trails off and Beth doesn’t dare turn back around to face him.

 

She has a feeling that if she does, one will move in to kiss the other and Beth can’t do that. Not to Pyp and not to herself. Especially herself. She deserves the world and Daario just isn’t the one who can give it to her. She deserves a man to look at her like her dad looks at her mom; or how Jon looks at Sansa. She thinks Pyp looks at her like that. She knows for certain that Daario never has.

 

“I _never_ would want you to feel anything like that,” Daario says.

 

Still feeling a complete loss as to why she felt the need to come here and see him, and having absolutely no idea what to say, Beth manages to nod her head – still not looking at him – and she leaves the flat. As she heads down the stairs, doing her best to not actually break into a run, she can feel Daario standing in the doorway, watching her go.

 

She reminds herself for being a stupid little girl when she actually imagines Daario following after her and she tells herself how much she hates herself for actually wanting him to follow after her.

 

…

 

Sansa has no idea how long she stands there.

 

Margaery Tyrell is here. In Winterfell. In Castle Black Bar. There are so many questions right now, but the main one pounding in Sansa’s head like a skipping record is _why_? Why is Margaery Tyrell here? She doesn’t belong here. She’s obviously here about the lawsuit. Are they allowed to talk about the lawsuit with each other? Should Sansa call her dad and Robb right now and tell them that Margaery Tyrell is here to see her?

 

“Hey,” Jon’s quiet, gentle yet strong, voice breaks through the pounding in her head and he lifts a hand, brushing hair back from her cheek. “I can kick her out,” he offers.

 

Sansa blinks at him. “You can?”

 

For some reason, her question makes him smile a little. “I own the place. I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason. I can have Dickon kick her out. Have him start showing his worth to me.”

 

And the fact that Jon would do that for her, it makes Sansa break into a small smile and she leans in, resting her forehead to his. She feels his arms circle her, holding her close, and she feels warm and safe and she closes her eyes, breathing him in deep.

 

“Thank you,” she hears herself whisper to him.

 

“For what?” Jon wonders and Sansa smiles, opening her eyes to look at him.

 

“For everything. For taking my hand in front of my brother.”

 

Jon’s forehead crinkles a little at that and her hands are resting on his chest, but she lifts one now to smooth his adorable wrinkles away.

 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Sansa,” Jon tells her.

 

“Yes, I do. I can’t even tell you how much that meant to me, when you did that,” Sansa says.

 

She feels like she doesn’t have to tell him. Jon isn’t a stupid man. He knows how close he is to her siblings. He and Robb are as close as any two brothers can be. And the fact that Jon took her hand in front of Robb without hesitation when Robb had been pissed, Sansa knows she can’t put it into words just how much that meant to her and how special she felt to Jon in that exact second.

 

“I’ll always take your hand,” Jon says. “For as long as you want me to.”

 

 _Forever_ is on the tip of her tongue, but Sansa is grateful that she is able to stop from actually saying it.

 

She and Jon seem to be moving so quickly already, but she doesn’t want them to move _too_ quickly.

 

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she tilts her head slightly and meets his lips with hers. Jon’s response is immediate, one hand lifting to cup the back of her neck and the other arm to wrap around her waist and she moans softly as his tongue traces her bottom lip. She parts them, allowing his tongue to enter, and she moans again, her fingers gripping the material of his tee-shirt, needing to hold on before she falls.

 

It is almost shocking to her how easily she can already imagine herself lying down on the sofa against the wall and pulling Jon down on top of her. They’ve known each other for years and yet, they don’t know each other at all and Sansa was amazed that only just a few days before, she hadn’t been able to imagine having sex with Jon, but now – already – he is kissing her hungrily and deeply and she is feeling herself grow so hot all over.

 

She can also feel something on him growing…

 

Jon pulls his head back a few minutes later, looking pained. “We need to stop.”

 

Sansa purses her lips together so she doesn’t laugh. She playfully leans in and smacks a kiss on his chin and Jon smiles, lifting his hands to either side of her head, pulling her in for another kiss. She giggles against his lips because she can feel him still smiling against hers and she’s just so… so _happy_. Because of Jon Snow.

 

“I’ll be right behind the bar if you need me,” Jon tells her.

 

Sansa exhales a breath and nods and manages to give him a small smile. As much as she wants to just stay in her for the next few hours – and days – and kiss Jon until she can’t breathe or feel her lips, she knows neither of them can do that. They both have to get to work and she has her former best friend, who’s she suing, waiting for her out in the bar.

 

They finally leave the office and Sansa can feel Jon right behind her. She knows he’s curious to see Margaery Tyrell for himself. She is sitting on a stool at the bar, a drink in front of her, and knowing Margaery, it’s more than likely her usual. A very dirty Grey Goose vodka martini. When Margaery sees her, she instantly perks up and bursts into a wide smile as if they are still best friends and Margaery is simply there to hang out.

 

“Sansa!” Margaery exclaims and hurries off her stool, rushing to her and throwing her arms around her.

 

Sansa stands there, unable to move her arms up to hug her in return and unable to even really think of anything to do or say. She knows her dad and Robb have filed the lawsuit, but how long do those take to get to the recipient? Maybe Margaery and her grandmother haven’t been served with the papers yet. Maybe Margaery has just come up North to visit and to see her because they had truly been best friends. Maybe Margaery has just been missing her.

 

“Oh my goodness, look at this place!” Margaery exclaims, pulling back – but keeping her arms around Sansa – and looking around the room. “You work here now?”

 

Sansa nods, finally finding her voice. “Yes, I’m a waitress here.”

 

She feels the slight burn of embarrassment in the center of her chest even though she does her best to ignore it. From top and most promising fashion student to bar waitress. She can just imagine what Margaery Tyrell – a member of one of the most prestigious families in all of Westeros – is thinking right now.

 

 “That is awesome!” Margaery exclaims enthusiastically. “Do you have a little bit to hang out? It doesn’t seem _too_ busy in here right now.” She eyes the three other patrons that are in the bar at the moment.

 

Sansa turns her head to look at Jon standing behind the bar. He gives her a slight nod, having overheard Margaery, and then he gives her a small smile. Sansa feels like she can breathe a little easier at the sight and knowing that he’s right there if she needs him, Sansa looks back to Margaery with a confidence she had been lacking just a second earlier.

 

Margaery is in Castle Black Bar. This is Sansa’s territory and Sansa is not going to be intimidated or embarrassed for working here because she knows she has the talent to do anything while Margaery has to steal the work of others and pass it off as her own.

 

“I can for a little bit,” Sansa agrees.

 

As Margaery takes her martini and goes to one of the tables, Sansa goes to the bar.

 

“Can I please have a Coke?” She orders from either of them.

 

“There’s something off about her,” Dickon comments as Jon fills a glass, discreetly looking in Margaery’s direction.

 

“Thank you, Dickon, but you don’t have to say that for my benefit,” Sansa smiles. She’s well aware of how beautiful Margaery is and how confident she carries herself. During their school years together, Sansa has witnessed more than one boy fall over themselves while in Margaery Tyrell’s presence.

 

Jon hands her the glass of Coke. “You got this,” he tells her in a soft voice and Sansa nods, taking a deep breath. She finds herself wishing Arya was here. Arya is brave in a way Sansa could only wish to be and sometimes, just being around her little sister, Sansa feels a little bit brave, too.

 

But Arya’s not here. Sansa is. And she can do this.

 

“This place is seriously so charming,” Margaery says once Sansa settles across from her. “And they certainly don’t hurt to have working here.” Margaery rests her chin in her hand as she blatantly looks at Jon and Dickon.

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that because there’s no point to. Jon isn’t hers. She’s not going to pee on him to mark her territory. Sansa also knows that she has no reason to worry or think that Jon will even glance twice at the woman with her. That’s not who Jon is. He’s as loyal as any person can be. Already, she trusts him completely.

 

She takes a sip of her Coke. “So what brings you North, Margaery?” Sansa asks after she swallows.

 

“I’ve just missed you,” Margaery shrugs with a smile. “Haven’t you missed me?”

 

“Yes…” Sansa answers slowly, but truthfully. When she first came home, she had missed Margaery so much. For the past few years, Margaery had been a constant presence in her life. They were the best of friends and Sansa had felt closer to her than she had to her own sister.

 

But now, with the theft of her dress designs, Sansa wonders if their entire friendship had been in her mind.

 

“You look so good, Sansa,” Margaery than says. “It’s like you’re glowing with happiness.”

 

Sansa finds herself smiling at that because she can’t possibly deny it. “I am very happy,” she agrees. She doesn’t look at Jon fully. She can see him from the corner of her eye, showing things to Dickon behind the bar. She takes another sip of her Coke and looks to Margaery instead. “I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love.”

 

The thought leaves her mouth and Sansa is almost taken aback at how much she _doesn’t_ want to take those words back and try to deny them.

 

Margaery giddily claps her hands. “Oh, that’s so wonderful, Sansa! I’m dating someone, too. He went to school with us, but he’s in the business school. Joffrey. Not my usual kind of guy, but he’s tolerable and loaded and he spoils me rotten.”

 

Sansa tries to think of something to say. “That sounds great, Margaery.”

 

Has she really changed that much? Margaery pulls her phone out and shows her a couple of pictures of Joffrey. Just a few months ago, Sansa would have looked at the thin, blonde boy and think him handsome. Now though, Sansa does her best to smile and agree with Margaery when Margaery begins to gush over Joffrey’s good looks. There isn’t a single part of Sansa who thinks Joffrey is handsome. Especially when she compares the boy to Jon. Jon is just a couple of years older than Margaery, Joffrey and herself, yet, looking at the pictures of Joffrey, he definitely seems very much like a boy and Jon is a man.

 

She thinks of in his office earlier, when she had been able to feel his arousal through his jeans. A definite man. Just thinking about it now makes Sansa blush deeply as she takes another sip of Coke.

 

“I’m so happy for you, Sansa,” Margaery says, putting her phone down. “And you’re happy for me?”

 

“Of course,” Sansa manages to smoothly reply.

 

“And we’re still best friends, aren’t we?” Margaery then asks and there is something about the question that makes Sansa instantly knot up.

 

Sansa swallows the thick dryness in her throat. “Yes,” she answers, regretting it immediately. She wishes Robb was here. She should have called Robb before leaving Jon’s office.

 

Margaery just smiles and reaches across the table, squeezing her hand. Her smile is cold and there is something almost mischievous about it and the knots Sansa can feel in her body only tighten at the sight.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for being patient between updates! I like reading Sansa and Margaery's friendship, but I sometimes go back and forth as to whether, on the show, Margaery was playing her. I wanted to explore that possibility in this story. I promise far more Jon/Sansa in the next chapter.


	16. Sixteen

…

 

He’s been to one of these before. Not as the boyfriend; just as the guest. But he knows how they go. He is to dress up. He is to bring flowers for Catelyn and he is to answer any and all questions that Ned has for him. He is also to make sure that he doesn’t touch Sansa and if he does, he has to make sure his hands don’t linger.

 

Jon feels like he does have a _slight_ advantage, witnessing these dinners before, but he still feels nervous in the pit of his stomach to throw up at any second.

 

He pulls into the driveway of the Stark home and sits there for a moment, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady. There’s no reason to be nervous. These are the Starks. They are practically his family and have known him since he was just to Ned Stark’s knee, but they have only known him as Robb Stark’s best mate. Now, he’s coming here because he’s more than interested in their daughter and wants to be with her. Sansa has told him that this is a meet-the-new-boyfriend dinner and Jon realizes that he has to take her out on an actual date. Can he be considered the new boyfriend if they haven’t talked about it and if he hasn’t taken her out on a date somewhere other than drinks in his flat?

 

Someone taps on his window then, making him nearly jump in his seat and hit his head on the ceiling. Turning, he sees that it’s Sansa and her lips are pursed together so she doesn’t laugh though her eyes are practically dancing, doing nothing to hide her amusement at his stupidity.

 

“Hey,” he says as she takes a step back and he opens the door, finally pulling himself from his car.

 

“You were sitting out here for so long, my dad took pity on you and told me to come and get you,” Sansa says with a smile. “You look so handsome, Jon,” she then says and both look down to what he’s wearing.

 

Gray slacks and a gray suit jacket with a white-buttoned shirt, the top buttons undone with no tie. He had had no idea what to do with his hair so he wound up pulling it back into a man-bun, thinking that it would be somehow more respectable than letting his curls have free reign that night.

 

Jon then looks to what she’s wearing. It’s a dress the color of the sky, ending a little above her knees and little ruffled sleeves. Her long hair is down and wavy that night.

 

“You look beautiful,” he tells her with all sincerity.

 

There is still plenty of light out and he can see her blush perfectly.

 

He glances towards the house and then back to her and as if reading his mind, Sansa smiles and stepping to him, her hands slide onto his cheeks and she kisses him. Jon instantly reciprocates, his hands gliding over her hips and pulling her in just a little bit closer.

 

“Are you nervous?” Sansa asks once their lips part. “Don’t be nervous.”

 

Jon glances to the house again and his hands tighten just a bit more on her hips. Of course he’s nervous. Sansa Stark is Ned and Catelyn’s pride and joy and Jon is just a bartender. They may love Jon as the best mate of their first-born son, but there’s no way they will approve of someone like him dating their daughter.

 

“Hey,” Sansa says quietly and gains Jon’s attention again. “Don’t be nervous,” she says, resting her hands on his chest and her eyes staring into his. “I mean it. I won’t let them make you nervous.”

 

Jon finds himself smiling a little at that, but then he exhales a deep breath and Sansa’s hands slide up his chest to curl over his shoulders.

 

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “I’ll protect you.”

 

That promise makes Jon actually laugh and Sansa breaks into a smile at the sound.

 

With a hand curved around the back of her neck, Jon gives her a kiss.

 

“Come on,” Sansa says, still with her happy smile. “I want my family to meet my boyfriend.”

 

She takes a step back from him and takes one of his hands in hers.

 

“I was wondering about that, sitting in my car,” Jon admits. “Whether or not I’m your boyfriend.”

 

Sansa stops on the path leading up to the front steps and turns once more towards him. “I’ve been thinking about that lately, too, and I’ve decided that you are my boyfriend. I just don’t share a bed with anyone.”

 

“I never thought you did,” Jon shakes his head and looks down to their hands, fingers intertwined. “I was also thinking that I need to take my girlfriend out on a proper date away from the bar or my flat.”

 

He lifts his eyes to look to Sansa’s face and he sees her smiling at the idea. He smiles, too, but it fades as he looks past her to the Stark home’s front door. She can’t read his mind, but Jon supposes anyone would be able to correctly guess his thoughts at the present time.

 

Sansa squeezes his hand and steps in, kissing his cheek. “Come on. The last thing you want to do is keep my mom and dad waiting.”

 

Jon straightens his back at that. “Right.”

 

He almost adds, _“Let’s get this over with”_ , but he doesn’t dare. This entire evening is as important as an evening can be. He is Sansa’s boyfriend and as Sansa’s boyfriend, he is to charm her parents and show them that he’s good enough for her.

 

“Shit. I forgot your mom’s flowers.”

 

Jon pulls his hand from Sansa’s and hurries back to the car, taking out the bouquet of purple tulips he had gone to the floral shop especially for, knowing that they are Catelyn Stark’s favorite flower.

 

Sansa is still waiting for him on the porch and she smiles and holds out her hand for him to take once again. Jon doesn’t hesitate in doing so.  He wants to keep holding her hand, but as soon as Sansa opens the front door and they step into the front entryway of the house, Jon slips his hand away from hers and pretends to not notice Sansa looking at him, curious and slightly confused.

 

“Finally!” Arya exclaims, coming to join them in the hallway. She’s wearing a sleeveless simple black dress with black tights. “We thought you had died out there!”

 

Jon admits that he’s surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?” He asks as he hugs her with one arm as Arya stands on her toes, hugging him with her arms around his shoulders. “And in a dress?”

 

Arya settles back down on her feet. “You can’t seriously think that I would miss this, do you?”

 

Jon glances towards Sansa and Sansa rolls her eyes at her sister.

 

“Stop, Arya. He’s nervous enough,” Sansa tells her and Arya looks at Jon with a grin.

 

Sansa takes Jon’s hand and pulls him down the hallway towards the back of the house where it spills open into the kitchen and den. Through the back glass patio doors, Lady is outside and upon seeing Sansa, she begins barking and whining to be let back inside. Sansa guides Jon into the kitchen where both Ned and Catelyn are and a woman Jon has never seen before. Ned is dressed much like Jon in a suit without the tie and Catelyn is looking elegant and regal as always in a dark, royal purple dress.

 

“We’re here,” Sansa announces though her parents already obviously know that.

 

Again, Jon slips his hand from hers and again, Sansa looks at him, but this time, she’s frowning at him. Jon isn’t going to explain though. He knows – in the back of his mind – that it’s ridiculous. Her parents already know that she’s slept over at his flat more than once, but that’s different. They know, but they didn’t _see_ it with their own eyes. Holding Sansa’s hand in front of them might seem as innocent an act as it can be, they’ll be able to actually see the physical contact and affection and Jon has seen Ned frown at past boyfriends who touched Sansa in his presence. Jon isn’t going to be making the same rookie mistake.

 

“I’ve brought these for you, Mrs. Stark,” Jon says, extending the bouquet of flowers and he swears he can hear Arya behind him, snorting with laughter at his formality.

 

Catelyn, though, smiles and takes the flowers. “Thank you so much, Jon. They’re absolutely beautiful. This is Mara,” she then introduces the woman Jon doesn’t know. “Ned and I decided that tonight, since it’s a special occasion, we would get dinner catered.”

 

Jon isn’t too sure what to say to that. He knows the Stark family is loaded, but he also knows that Catelyn loves to cook for her family and be in the kitchen. He doesn’t understand why they would bring someone to cook dinner tonight, but he doesn’t ask. For some reason, a catered dinner just is making him more nervous.

 

Mara tells them that there is still a few minutes until the first course and as Catelyn retrieves a vase for the tulips, Ned suggests they go into the den. Jon slips his hands into his pants pockets so Sansa can’t take one.

 

“What is the matter?” Sansa whispers as they follow after her father.

 

“Why do you think something is the matter?” Jon asks as innocently as he can. Sansa just looks at him.

 

In the den, Rickon is sitting on the floor, playing a video game, Robb and his girlfriend, Jeyne, are sitting on the couch, talking softly with each other and Bran is spread across the other couch, watching his younger brother. All, except Rickon, turn their heads when the others enter the room.

 

“You’re here,” Jeyne says with a smile and gets up to give Jon a hug.

 

Jon has always liked Jeyne and has always considered her to be one of his friends. She and Robb began dating their freshman year of high school and for the next four years, they were very much a constant trio. Jon wonders when Robb is finally going to propose to her, but he never asks. It’s not his business and maybe Robb and Jeyne have already had that conversation. Maybe they’re going to be one of those couples that are together for the next fifty years without ever actually getting married. It’s not his business until Robb talks to him about it and makes it his business.

 

Robb stands up as well and he shakes Jon’s hand, giving him a faint smile; a smile of being completely amused and Jon admits that it is somewhat surreal to be here as Sansa’s boyfriend for this kind of dinner.

 

Bran has sat up so there is plenty of more room on the couch and Jon knows if he sits on the couch, Sansa will sit next to him and she’ll hold his hand and her entire family will see their physical contact. Robb has seen them kiss and share a couch together, but this is different tonight. Tonight, he’s in the Stark home; not his flat. Ned Stark is here, watching them. Catelyn Stark is here, watching them.

 

Tonight, he’s not Jon Snow, Robb’s best mate. Tonight, he’s Jon Snow, Sansa’s _boyfriend_.

 

Jon purposely sits down in one of the armchairs instead. He sees Arya glance over to Sansa and Robb and Ned glance at one another as well. Jon tries to catch Sansa’s eye, but she’s moving towards the couch and sitting down next to Bran. The younger brother leans in and whispers something to Sansa, who shakes her head.

 

Jon’s stomach knot tightens so much, it nearly makes him want to physically fold himself in half.

 

Ned clears his throat. “So, Jon,” he says as he settles himself down into the other armchair. “How’s the bar business?” He asks.

 

“Good,” Jon gives a nod, giving the man his full attention. “I had a 3% profit increase from last month.”

 

Ned smiles widely at that. “That’s fantastic, Jon. Truly.”

 

Jon allows himself a small smile. “And hopefully, that number can only get higher after the Winterfell Annual Pub Crawl. Sansa’s going to be designing us tee-shirts to wear and we’re the third stop, which I think is perfect. Everyone has had time to get settled in and get a warm buzz going, but they’re not drunk enough to not remember where they are.”

 

Ned chuckles. “Catelyn and I keep saying that we need to stop by. Not on pub crawl night, but some other time. We haven’t been there since you opened and that’s just lazy and not very supportive of us.”

 

“You’re always welcome, sir, and the first round will be on the house,” Jon says and can hear both Arya and Robb snort. Jeyne elbows Robb in the side, but Robb just grins at her and when Jon looks towards the couch – where Arya is perched on the arm beside her brother – Arya begins rubbing her nose, signaling to Jon that he has something brown there. Jon frowns at them both.

 

Even over the moans of zombies and gunfire from the video game, they can all hear Lady barking crazily.

 

“Excuse me,” Sansa says and standing up, she leaves the den without looking at any of them.

 

Jon tells himself to not worry. Tonight, it’s all about wooing the parents. Sansa understands. She _has_ to.

 

“Do you have any other plans for the bar?” Ned asks, bringing Jon’s attention back.

 

“Actually, yes. It’s not my idea, but it seemed to be a hit the one night I did it and I wouldn’t be a very good bar owner if I didn’t listen to what the people wanted. VH1 used to show reality shows-”

 

“Everyone,” Catelyn enters the room with a smile. “Dinner is served.”

 

They all stand up and Jon lingers in the den, allowing himself to be the last to leave and enter the dining room. He sees that Catelyn has placed the vase of purple tulips in the center of the table. He is quick to take note of the seats open at the table. Sansa is already settling herself into her usual one at her mother’s right and the chair next to her is left open; purposely so, Jon knows.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes, sensing him standing there, and she gives him a small smile; small, but warm.

 

He remembers the previous dinner like this he’s been to with Sansa introducing one of her high school boyfriends. That poor chap had sat down in the chair next to Sansa and had to deal with Ned and Robb glaring at him for the whole meal. Jon quickly scans over the other chairs. The seat on the other side of Jeyne is still open, Rickon the only other who hasn’t settled down yet. Jon moves a bit quickly, taking that seat for himself and lowering himself in it.

 

When he looks to Sansa, across and down the table from him, she’s not looking at him anymore, but she’s now frowning, staring down at the setting in front of her.

 

Rickon goes to take the last available, seat next to Sansa. “He doesn’t seem to like you that much,” Rickon then whispers to his sister in what he probably thinks is a soft voice, but Jon hears it like a bomb going off.

 

Sansa swallows thickly and shrugs her shoulders, but doesn’t say anything in response to Rickon’s comment. The back of Jon’s throat burns, but before he can stand up to ask Rickon to switch seats with him, Mara comes out then, pushing a dinner cart.

 

“A roasted cauliflower and white cheddar soup to begin,” she says and then goes around the table, placing the bowls down in front of everyone before returning to the kitchen to finish the final touches on their main course.

 

“Is there a reason you’re acting like a complete punce tonight?” Arya whispers to him from his other side.

 

Jon frowns at her. “Do you remember any of these other kinds of dinners?” He whispers back. “I can’t be too forward in front of your parents.”

 

Arya rolls her eyes. “You’re a damn grown man, Jon.”

 

Conversations flow around him as he eats his soup, making sure he doesn’t slurp or dribble any onto his chin. Robb and Ned are talking about work. Jeyne and Bran, sitting across from one another, are talking about his high school classes, where Jeyne is a freshmen chemistry teacher. And Sansa and Catelyn are speaking with one another, but they are doing so in whispers so Jon can’t possibly overhear. He can just imagine the discussion though. Catelyn is probably saying the same thing that Rickon did; about Jon not liking her and wondering why her daughter seems to be wasting her time on him.

 

With his stomach knot so tight, Jon is hardly able to finish half of his soup, before Mara returns, picking up the dishes and wheeling them back into the kitchen. Jon tries to meet Sansa’s eye, but she’s no longer even glancing at him and she certainly isn’t giving him smiles. She’s acting like he’s not even there. How the hell did he manage to fuck this night up so badly when he was trying so hard to _not_ fuck it up?

 

He’s absolutely insane about Sansa and wouldn’t Ned and Catelyn be happy to know that their daughter is so cared for? Yes, he’s a bartender, but he’s also the _owner_ and his bar is doing well and if they had such a problem with Jon’s profession, they would have demanded Sansa quit working there long ago.

 

He may not be as smart or as wealthy as a lawyer, but he’s completely head over heels for their daughter and he treats her well and kind and that should matter more to them than anything. Jon knows it does.

 

“Beef bourguignon with carrots, cranberries and mashed potatoes,” Mara returns with their dinner plates.

 

It smells delicious and looks even better, but Jon can’t imagine himself eating the heavy meal in front of him.

 

“Sansa,” Jon speaks and Sansa instantly looks at him, clearly surprised that he’s addressed her at all. “May I speak with you for a moment?” He asks, already standing up.

 

Sansa’s brow furrows, confused, but she stands up as well. “Excuse us,” she says to everyone else as she leaves the dining room and Jon follows her into the kitchen where they will be able to have some privacy even with Mara the caterer there, rinsing out their soup bowls at the sink.

 

As soon as the door swings shut behind them, Sansa spins around towards him.

 

“What the hell, Jon Snow?” She demands.

 

Jon steps to her and not saying a word, he lifts his hands to frame either side of her head and he kisses her. Sansa is stiff for a moment, but Jon can feel the instant she melts into it, her hands coming to a rest on his hips and her lips pressing back against his.

 

“I’m sorry and I’m a damn grown man,” he murmurs, hardly lifting his lips from hers to do so.

 

They come out of the kitchen a minute later, this time, Jon holding onto Sansa’s hand and he sees that the others have just finished switching his and Rickon’s places and Rickon is settling into the chair next to Jeyne. This time, Jon lets go of Sansa’s hand only so they can both sit down, this time, side-by-side.

 

This time, Jon has no problem in beginning to eat his dinner.

 

“Jon, what were you saying before? Something about VH… something?” Ned asked.

 

“VH1,” Sansa supplies while Jon finishes chewing and swallowing.

 

“If I purchase a Hulu membership, they have all of the _Rock of Love_ , _Flavor of Love_ , and _Charm School_ episodes. I was thinking on Sunday nights, I could show a few episodes,” Jon says.

 

“I’ve never heard of those shows,” Catelyn says.

 

“Jon, I have a Hulu membership. Don’t buy one. I fully support this addition to the bar and I will gladly let you use my account,” Arya offers.

 

“What kind of shows are these?” Catelyn asks all of them.

 

“Family-oriented shows,” Robbs answers without missing a beat.

 

Jeyne rolls her eyes at him and then looks to Catelyn. “They’re trashy reality dating shows. Awful, but amazing the same time.”

 

“It’s absolutely brilliant,” Sansa jumps in. “No other bar does anything like it. I’m sure within a month, every other bar around will be copying Jon.”

 

And she has so much pride and support in her tone, obvious to anyone listening, Jon’s not going to worry about what her parents or siblings think. As Arya pointed out, he’s a damn grown man. They’re not in high school. They’re adults, engaging in an adult relationship, and in Jon’s opinion, this relationship isn’t going to be ending anytime soon so they will all just have to get used to it. The time for being so scared and nervous is through. Sansa deserves a hell of a lot more than that.

 

Jon leans in and kisses her on the cheek and Sansa instantly smiles as a blush spreads across her face. She turns to look at Jon and he gives her a mirroring smile. The others continue talking around them, not even really paying attention to them – Arya seems to be telling Catelyn that they should definitely watch an episode of _Flavor or Love_ after dinner – and Sansa lifts a hand to Jon’s cheek, gently sweeping her thumb across his skin.

 

Jon exhales a breath that has been held in his lungs ever since he pulled into the driveway.

 

…

 dinner inspiration looks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love this chapter and I hope you did, too! Thank you for reading!!


	17. Seventeen

…

 

Tormund has a key and when Jon and Sansa arrive at Castle Black Bar from the Stark family dinner, the man has already opened up the bar for the night.

 

“Looking good, boss!” Tormund calls out as Jon enters through the back door and comes up the hallway, Sansa’s hand tucked in his.

 

“Thanks,” Jon smiles.

 

It’s a bit weird to see Dickon behind the bar and not Daario, but he’s not going to allow himself to think on it. Daario is suspended and it was absolutely the right decision. It was the _only_ decision. Jon already knows that it won’t be forever though. Maybe two weeks – at the longest. And it’s only Dickon’s second night and he seems to be a perfectly good bartender, but there’s a certain something that he, Sansa, Daario and Tormund all have together. Daario and Tormund have been the ones with him since he opened the doors for the first time and yes, Jon is very pissed off at Daario at the moment, but – and as lame as it sounds –they’re family.

 

“Everything okay?” He then asks both men.

 

He scans around the bar. The bar has been open for about an hour now and there are eight patrons there so far. The majority seem to belong to a group of college kids, sitting at two tables that they have pushed together. There are two pitchers of beer divided between the five of them and they seem to be quizzing one another with a stack of notecards that they pass around. There’s a man in the back, entertaining himself with a game of solo pool, and there is a man and woman, standing at the bar and obviously engaged in flirting with one another judging from the man’s smile and the woman’s giggle.

 

It only takes a few seconds for Jon to see all of this.

 

“So far, so good,” Dickon confirms with a nod of his head.

 

“Alright. Sansa and I are going to go upstairs for just a minute. We’ll be back,” Jon tells both Dickon and Tormund as he unlocks the door that opens up to the staircase.

 

Lady and Sansa begin the climb and Jon follows behind. On the top landing, Sansa steps aside and gently guides Lady to the side as well so Jon can get to his flat’s front door.

 

“I should get you a key,” Jon muses as he unlocks the door and Ghost is there, greeting them all as if they’ve been gone for years rather than just a few hours.

 

Sansa unhooks Lady’s leash and the two dogs begin engaging in some sort of elaborate dance with one another, circling and sniffing one another. Jon closes the door once again and follows Sansa as she goes into his bedroom to set her bag down on the chair he has in the corner.

 

“And a drawer. I should clear you out a drawer, too,” he adds.

 

“You don’t have to, Jon,” Sansa looks at him with a shake of her head.

 

“Don’t you want those things?”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to answer, but then she seems to pause as she thinks of her answer.

 

Jon takes the moment to close the space between them and he slides his hands over her hips. She looks so beautiful that night, still wearing her blue dress from dinner with her family. She always looks so beautiful, sometimes – most times – Jon can’t believe that she actually wants his hands anywhere on her.

 

He’s feeling the question more times on the tip of his tongue, but thankfully, he’s always able to swallow it down before he can ask her. _What the hell are you doing with me?_ But Jon never asks because he knows that he’s afraid of any answer she might possibly give him.

 

As Sansa’s hand lightly slide beneath the lapels of his jacket so they can rest on his chest, Jon leans in and kisses her, immediately coaxing her mouth to open against his and he groans softly as his tongue dives into her mouth and he’s able to taste her. He wants to be able to taste _all_ of her, but he doesn’t know if they’re at that point yet with one another. He wants to be, but he also doesn’t want to rush Sansa if she isn’t.

 

All he wants to do right now is turn her around and guide her down onto the bed, but he has a bar to run. He can’t leave Dickon alone. He’s too new for that and it’s not that Jon doesn’t trust him. It’s just… well, yes, that’s it, actually. Dickon might be Sam’s younger brother and Sam might be one of his best mates, but Dickon is not Sam and Jon doesn’t feel right not supervising him.

 

When he forces himself to pull his lips back, he hears Sansa whimper softly at the loss and he can’t help, but smile. He lifts a hand to the back of her head, cupping it, and he gives her another – much shorter and chaste – kiss before pulling his head back, but keeping his arms around her. He’s quickly finding out that holding Sansa is one of his favorite things to do.

 

“I know,” she says before he can say anything. “Are you going to change?” She then asks.

 

Jon thinks about it for a moment and then shakes his head. “I’ll just be changing again in a few hours. Are you? Maybe you should,” he then suggests while looking down to her dress.

 

Sansa rolls her eyes, biting back a smile, and she pulls herself away from him. She slips out of her heels and goes to her bag. She takes out her pair of black and white Converse sneakers and sits down on the edge of the bed to tug and tie them on.

 

“Caveman isn’t really a good look on you,” Sansa muses, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

 

“Agree to disagree, love,” Jon smiles a bit widely. “I don’t enjoy being a hypocrite though. I just suspended Daario for threatening a customer.”

 

“Oh, stop,” Sansa rolls her eyes and gets to her feet again, but Jon can easily see the blush on her cheeks.

 

Sansa leaves the bedroom to go into the kitchen to make sure Ghost and Lady have fresh water and kibble while she and Jon are downstairs, working, and Jon stays in the bedroom long enough to hang his suit jacket back up in the closet and roll his sleeves up to his elbows. Definitely overdressed for Castle Black Bar, but he doesn’t want to change and then change again in a few hours when he and Sansa are going to bed.

 

He had gotten two extra bowls for Lady and Jon comes out of the bedroom now, standing in the open doorway to the kitchen, watching as Sansa fills all of the bowls with food and water, laughing as the dogs dance around her, eager for their dinners, both acting like they haven’t eaten in days.

 

Jon watches Sansa and listens to her laughter and he feels his chest tighten at both the sight and sound.

 

He’s falling completely in love with this girl. He would think that maybe he would try to talk himself out of those feelings since it seems too soon. _Way_ too soon. But he stands there and watches her as she goes about his kitchen, unaware of him watching her, and he knows that it’s happening and he’s not going to do a damn thing to stop it either. He’s falling in love with Sansa Stark and he wants her, here in his flat, in his bar, with _him_ all of the time.

 

Just yesterday, just this morning, just an hour ago, Jon had been somewhat resigned to the fact that she will someday be leaving – probably to head back South and continue her pursuit of a career in fashion – and Jon would let her go because someone like Sansa Stark deserves all of the fame and success possible in the world. But now, if Sansa goes back South, Jon finds himself actually imagining relocating his bar South, too.

 

He hates the South, but he’s falling in love with Sansa – well on his way to becoming completely in love with her – and if the South is where the Sansa winds up, if she wants him the way he wants her, Jon wants to be with her.

 

“We really need to feed these dogs occasionally,” Sansa laughs, looking at Jon with a brightness across her face that makes Jon smile, too.

 

“You ready to get to it?” He asks and holds out his hand.

 

Sansa reaches out, taking his one with both of hers, still smiling at him. “Always.”

 

Downstairs, back in the bar, there are a few more people now – twenty – and Jon goes straight behind the bar to take some of the load off of Dickon though he, Jon must admit, seems to be handling things just fine. Jon supposes that it helps that not everyone is at the bar at once and most seem to be drinking beers.

 

Sansa takes her apron from beneath the bar top and tying it around her waist, she then takes her tray and heads off to check on the tables, seeing if she can get anyone refills of their drinks. She comes back a moment later, giving Jon a smile, but since he’s in the middle of mixing a couple of drinks already, she hands the order to Dickon. Jon is going to think that she did that on purpose. Maybe she knows that even though he gave Dickon the job, he’s still testing him.

 

And it’s not like Jon wants Dickon to be a shitty bartender. His bar would be the thing to suffer for it. He just thinks of Dickon coming to the bar that night with Sam and holding onto Sansa’s hand a little too long as he shook it or the bouquet of white roses he had sent to her after she had gotten hurt and Jon admits that that’s all the reason in the world to be just a _little_ hard on the guy.

 

Around eight, Beth and Pyp come in and Sansa hurries up to Beth as if it’s been forever since they last saw one another. They embrace, smiling, and Beth is excitedly saying something and then Sansa is hugging Pyp as well before ushering them to the bar.

 

“What’s going on?” Jon asks any and all of them because something is obviously going on. For a second, he thinks that maybe Pyp and Beth are engaged, but that can’t be it. It’s just been a couple of months. He knows couples do move that fast sometimes, but with Daario lingering over their heads – or is he? – Jon just can’t imagine these two getting married already. If they are though, Jon will buy a round for the bar.

 

“Pyp and I adopted a kitten from the shelter,” Beth tells Jon with the same happy smile she had with Sansa.

 

Jon finds himself smiling. “That calls for drinks.” He gets Pyp his usual, already knowing what it is – a pint of Guinness – and he mixes Beth her usual – a gin and tonic. “On the house. What’s his name?”

 

“Argrave the Defiant,” Pyp answers with a slight smirk twisting at her lips.

 

“After the Knight?” Jon asks though who else could it be.

 

Beth looks at him as if she’s offended. “He’s black, weighs two pounds and Argrave the Defiant is the _perfect_ name for him,” she tells all of them.

 

As Sansa asks them more questions about Argrave the Defiant the kitten, Jon listens as he mixes other drinks for other patrons and sometimes, he’ll look at the couple. As Beth talks, the smile on her face constant, Pyp looks at Beth and no one else as if Beth is the reason for every single good thing in the world.

 

Jon’s pretty sure he looks at Sansa like that, too.

 

For the first time that night, Jon finds himself being grateful that Daario isn’t here to ruin the moment.

 

Of course, when Dickon breaks a glass an hour later and they have to throw out the ice in the bin and fill it again – just at their busiest peak of customers – Jon’s back to wondering how long he should keep Daario suspended for.

 

…

 

“You okay?” Jon finally asks because he’s still getting to know her as deeply and as well as he wants to, but he knows when something is wrong.

 

Sansa thinks it over – it worries him immediately that she has to think it over – and she then nods her head. “I am. I just… I’m figuring something out in my head.”

 

“Do you want to talk about?”

 

“Yes.” This time, she doesn’t pause to think over that. “We can talk when we’re back upstairs.”

 

Jon just nods and lifts her hand, giving her a kiss on the palm before going back to emptying the tills and he carries the money drawers to the safe in the back office as Sansa turns off the rest of the lights. He comes back out to make sure that all of the doors are locked and bolted and he sets the alarm at the back door.

 

When he turns back around, he sees that Sansa is waiting for him before going up to his flat.

 

He closes the space behind her and his hands find a home on her hips. He has found out that he likes resting his hands there because they seem to fit perfectly.

 

“You want to talk about it now?” Jon wonders.

 

In the dark, he can still see her swallow.

 

“Upstairs,” she whispers then and there’s something about the way she whispers that one word.

 

 _Upstairs_.

 

Jon’s body is suddenly very aware of Sansa’s body.

 

He doesn’t say anything as he follows her up the stairs, her arms back so her hands can hold onto one of his as she leads the way back up into his flat. He doesn’t know what’s in Sansa’s head right now. If she wants to just talk, of course, he will talk, but if she wants something more… _of course_ Jon is up for that, too.

 

Definitely up, he thinks wryly to himself.

 

Upstairs, Lady and Ghost dance around them and Sansa breaks from her thoughts just long enough to greet them in return with kisses and ear rubs. She then turns to look at Jon and he sees the way her fingers fidget.

 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she tells him.

 

“I’ll wait out here,” he offers and she seems to visibly relax instantly at the offer.

 

She gives him a small, shy smile then and she’s never looked more beautiful to him in that moment. Jon smiles, too, and he wants to kiss her, but he knows not yet.

 

He watches as she goes into the bedroom, closing the door behind her with a quiet click, and Jon goes to sit on the couch, Lady and Ghost trotting behind him. He sits and tries to keep his heart from pounding right through his ribcage. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. There’s no reason for him to be nervous. He still doesn’t know what Sansa has in mind for tonight. She could just want making out with heavy petting. He’s completely fine with that if that’s all it will be tonight. More than tonight.

 

Honestly, the only thing Jon wants is Sansa in his bed every night. Everything after that is just a bonus.

 

He wonders if he should take Ghost and Lady out for a quick pee outside behind the bar, but neither are acting like they have to go out right now. Actually, both have dropped down to the floor in their own spots and are already snoring away.

 

Jon notices that his knee is bouncing up and down and he finds himself staring at it, but doing nothing to try and stop it. He tells himself that this is Sansa and there’s no reason to be nervous. He doesn’t even know what she has in mind for tonight and even once she tells him, there’s still no reason for him to be nervous. Jon nearly snorts at himself though with that thought. This being Sansa is every reason in the world to be nervous. He’s never felt this way about any girl – _woman_ – before; not even Ygritte and he had been with her for two years. He had loved her, but being with Sansa for such a short amount of time, anything with Ygritte has already been completely surpassed.

 

The bedroom door opens again and Jon instantly gets to his feet, turning to see Sansa in the doorway. She’s wearing her usual pajamas – a little short pair of plaid boxer shorts that show off miles of legs and a grey tank top. She gives him that same shy smile and Jon takes his cue as she takes a step back into the bedroom.

 

The instant he is within reach, he wraps her up in his arms and he fuses his mouth to hers. Sansa’s fingers go to the back of his head and he feels her taking his hair out from his man bun, the curls instantly falling free and she tangles her fingers in them now, gripping clumps as she kisses him back with matching fervor.

 

“Jon,” she whispers then, her hot breath panting against his lips.

 

“Tell me,” he whispers back, just as breathless as his lungs gasp in the air when they are able to.

 

“I want to go slow. I want… tonight, you take off your shirt and I’ll take off mine. Is that okay?”

 

Jon gives her another kiss – slower than before and Sansa moans into his mouth in response to it. He then forces himself to take a step back and Sansa sinks down on the foot of the bed, watching him as he takes his turn to get ready for bed. He goes to the closet and toes out of his black dress shoes, kicking them into the closet, and then unbuttoning his white dress shirt. He is very aware of Sansa watching him as he then unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants. He tries to keep himself under control and remind himself that he’s not some randy kid Bran’s age. He’s a grown man who’s capable of undressing around his girlfriend without embarrassing himself.

 

He leaves the clothes in a heap on the floor for the time being, tugging off his socks and adding to the pile, before turning towards Sansa. She gives him a small smile and stands up. He closes the space between them once again and his hands slide over her cheeks, giving her a kiss. Then, keeping his eyes locked with hers, he pulls his white tee-shirt off over his head and turns, tossing it onto the pile of his other clothes on the floor. He turns his head back towards her just as Sansa’s hands drop down to the hem of her tank top.

 

Jon’s not going to lie. He’s pretty sure he has stopped breathing completely as Sansa pulls the tank top up, exposing more and more of her pale upper body. And then the tank top is completely gone, dropped onto the floor and she stands there, naked from the waist up.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s groaned at the sight of her until Sansa lets out a giggle – nervous and relieved all at the same time and she lifts her hands to his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. Jon doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his own hands to her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms. They’re perfect – just like the rest of her – and he begins to massage them gently, her nipples tightening into pebbles in response.

 

He wraps one arm around her waist and begins to gently guide her backwards onto the bed. His mouth never leaves her and as Sansa’s fingers tangle in his hair, Jon’s hands return to her breasts. He listens to her soft whimpers and moans as he fondles them and when she breathlessly sighs his name, Jon feels it shoot right down to his groin.

 

 _Slow, slow, slow_ he repeats the mantra to himself as he slowly slides his body off of Sansa’s even though he knows she’s already felt it. That will be for another night.

 

He hopes.

 

“Jon,” she whispers as their lips finally part and Jon dips his head down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to all sorts of patches of her skin that are now displayed out in the open beneath him.

 

When he swipes the flat of his tongue over one nipple and then suckles it gently into his mouth, Sansa lets out the most beautiful moan he’s ever heard, her back arching, her fingers tangling, once more, into his curls as her body shifts beneath his. He notices she is squeezing her thighs together and he’s beyond tempted to offer her help, but he focuses instead on her breasts, losing himself in them as he licks, caresses and suckles.

 

Hopefully, seeing to between Sansa’s thighs will be tomorrow night.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters from Jon's POV so the next two chapters will be from Sansa's POV and she will be meeting with her dad and brother to talk about Margaery soon. Thank you so much to those reading and loving this story!


	18. Eighteen

…

 

After she has gotten herself and Lady back home the next morning, Sansa has just put the last of the things from her gym bag away when someone knocks on her open bedroom door.

 

“Hey,” Sansa says when she sees that it’s Arya. “What are you doing home?”

 

“My Anthropology professor has pneumonia or something. Class cancelled for the day,” Arya says while munching on an apple. “Do you want to go shopping?”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to respond, but before a word can even form and be given voice to, Arya continues.

 

“To the thrift shop,” she makes sure to add, knowing that Sansa doesn’t like to shop like she once did.

 

When Sansa had first come home after dropping out of the university, Arya had hardly believed it. After all, in high school, fashion and shopping had seemed to be two of the few things that Sansa cared about, if she wasn’t hanging out with her boring friends or her boring of a dolt football player boyfriend. There had been little mystery as to why she and Sansa had had little to talk about with one another when they were younger.

 

But Sansa came home from the South and she had changed in so many ways and when Arya actually took a step back and looked at this new person her sister had turned into, it made Arya want to go South and burn her past university to the ground.

 

How _dare_ anyone force Sansa to change anything about herself? Yes, Arya thought fashion and shopping were both things that were an absolute waste of time, but they were both things that made Sansa, _Sansa_ and yes, she’s now a waitress in a bar – which is pretty cool – but everything else about her has been trampled by the South and it will always not infuriate Arya.

 

Sansa thinks it over for a moment. “Alright,” she then agrees.  “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

 

“Yes. Gendry’s fraternity is having some sort of formal and I need a dress.”

 

Sansa feels the corners of her lips pulling into a smile. Of course, Arya wants to find a formal dress at a thrift shop. “I didn’t know you were dating a fraternity man,” she comments.

 

“It’s an engineering fraternity,” Arya replies as if that makes it not a real fraternity. “Most of the engineering students are in it. And we’re not dating,” Arya is sure to quickly add.

 

Sansa just smiles and doesn’t comment on that. She knows Robb and Jon have both met and spent time with this Gendry, but no one else in the family has. Arya seems to very much have adopted a new life motto and that motto is “Gendry is not my boyfriend” though Jon and Robb have let the Stark family know that yes, Gendry definitely is. Sansa can’t necessarily blame Arya though. If she admits that Gendry and her are dating, Gendry will have to come over for a family dinner. With Ned and Catelyn Stark, there’s just no way around that. And considering how disastrous the dinner with Jon had _nearly_ been when he has known the Stark family for as many years Jon has… yes, Sansa can’t blame Arya entirely for wanting to deny, deny, deny.

 

“How are things with you and Jon going?” Arya asks once they’re in the car and heading towards the shop.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to hear about it,” Sansa points out.

 

“I never said that,” Arya shakes her head as she continues flipping through radio stations, staying on a song for only a second before turning to a new one. “I just said I don’t want to hear about it too early in the morning. It’s almost eleven.”

 

Sansa wants to roll her eyes, but instead, she finds herself smiling because immediately upon being asked about Jon, of course her thoughts are going to go straight to Jon and she’s finding that anytime she thinks of him lately, she smiles. Especially after last night.

 

Oh goodness, last night had been absolutely perfect. More than she could have ever hoped it would be. Jon had just been so… so _Jon_. He understood that she wanted to still take things a little slow and she had felt his erection through his boxers, but Jon, himself, had ignored it because he was just focusing on Sansa’s chest, knowing that the top of her body is all that she is ready for.

 

Well, that had been true the night before. She _had_ only been ready for just the top of her body, but now…

 

He’s so wonderful, Sansa’s finding it so hard to believe, to be honest. She didn’t know that men could be so wonderful. She saw it in movies, of course, and in books and she secretly, not-so-secretly, thought her parents were a true love story come to life and their marriage is one Sansa wants for herself someday, but still, after lackluster love in high school – though what do sixteen-year-olds know about love? – and witnessing the kind of guys who were down South, Sansa began to wonder if truly wonderful men actually existed – at least for her.

 

It’s so strange because she’s surprised, but she’s also not surprised that Jon Snow is that wonderful. Not surprised and yet, it doesn’t feel real sometimes.

 

She loves Jon. She doesn’t know when she’s fallen in love with him, but she has. Completely. When she’s not with him, she quickly figures out in her head how soon it will be until she does see him again. And when she’s with him, she never wants to leave. He’s sweet, handsome and kind and hard-working and he treats her like she’s someone important and wonderful and the way he looks at her, it makes Sansa stomach clench even now just from thinking about it. No one has ever looked at her the way that Jon looks at her.

 

He looks at her like she’s the question and answer to everything at the same time.

 

“Things are good,” Sansa finally answers Arya’s question, as simply as she possibly can. “I love him,” she then hears herself adding even though she knows Arya doesn’t want to hear things like that about her sister and one of her best mates, but Sansa can’t help it.

 

She doesn’t want to keep it in. Why would she want to keep that in?

 

She needs to tell Jon.

 

Arya snorts at Sansa’s confession. “Obviously.”

 

Stopped at a red light, Sansa turns her head to look at her sister with surprise. “Obviously?” She echoes.

 

“He loves you, too, you know. After he pulled his head out of his arse at mom and dad’s house, you two were absolutely disgusting together,” Arya states, still flipping through the radio.

 

“We were not-” Sansa begins to refute with a frown.

 

“Absolutely, positively disgusting,” Arya cuts in firmly. “Holding hands and smiling at one another and whispering. And you didn’t see the way he would look at you when you had your head turned away.”

 

The light turns green and Sansa reminds herself to drive even as all of the air in her lungs feels trapped in her chest now, neither inhaling or exhaling. “How was he looking at me?” She manages to ask.

 

“Like you’re everything,” Arya says and she rolls her eyes, but she’s trying her best to bite back a smile.

 

Sansa doesn’t notice that though. She’s still trying to remind herself that she needs to breathe.

 

…

 

“This one?”

 

Arya’s face instantly screws up in disgust at the once-bridesmaid yellow dress that Sansa holds up and Sansa can’t help, but laugh at her younger sister’s expression.

 

“I know,” she agrees and returns the dress to the rack. “It’s a terrible color for you anyway.”

 

Arya looks through a few more dresses and then sighs heavily. “Maybe you can make me something?” She asks, her eyes slightly wide with hope, settled on Sansa.

 

Sansa immediately shakes her head. “I can’t, Arya.”

 

“Why not?” Arya all, but demands. “Sansa… you’re an amazing designer! And you’re letting them win!”

 

Sansa tries not to sigh heavily. “I’m not letting anyone win. Why is it so hard to believe that I just don’t want to design anymore?”

 

“Because, Sansa, no one believes it because it’s bullshit.”

 

Sansa turns away, looking back to the dresses on the rack in front of her though she’s not really seeing anything. She feels angry tears stinging her eyes and she sighs heavily, squeezing her eyes shut, not wanting to cry. She’s thankful her hair is down so it hides some of her face from Arya so she can’t see.

 

“It’s not bullshit, Arya,” Sansa says, her voice quiet, but steady. “Why does everyone think that it is? I _loved_ designing clothes, but it’s not all I am anymore. I’m trying…” she exhales a shaky breath. “I’m trying to move on and find something else I love just as much and _no one_ is letting me do that.”

 

Arya is quiet for nearly a full minute before she comes to stand at Sansa’s side. “Jon said you were going to be designing a shirt for the pub crawl.”

 

“It’s a tee-shirt,” Sansa says, still staring down at the dresses rather than her sister. “Hardly a couture gown.”

 

“If you’d rather do that, you can design me a tee-shirt to wear to the formal instead of a dress,” Arya offers and Sansa knows that more of her is serious than kidding and she lets out a soft laugh at that. “Sansa,” Arya then says her name and Sansa turns her head to look at her. Her eyes still are wet, but thankfully, none of those tears have brimmed over. “You can do anything you want to do and you’ll be amazing at it.”

 

It’s not something the two sisters do, but Sansa can’t help herself in that moment. She puts her arms around Arya’s shoulders and give her a squeezing hug. Arya allows it, but after a few seconds, she pats Sansa’s back, the signal for her to let go. Sansa does and both sisters share a smile.

 

“Want to go look at fur coats?” Arya suggests and Sansa lets out a laugh, nodding quickly, wiping at her cheeks, but thankfully, they are both dry.

 

Sansa’s not entirely sure how it began, but this is not their first time at this particular thrift shop and during one of their previous visits, they began trying on the fur coats for sale, laughing as they did, taking silly selfies on their phones and silly pictures of the two of them together, acting like they’re runway models and doing the most ridiculous duck face poses, and it seems stupid to others, but it’s just something they do.

 

Against the wall, the thrift shop has just a few furs coats this time and Sansa and Arya immediately pull on a couple. Arya’s is brown and waist length, a little too tight on her and it puffs up, making her look like a round fur-covered ball. She pushes her phone into Sansa’s hand and both are beginning to laugh so hard, Sansa can barely hold the phone steady as she snaps a picture.

 

Sansa takes down a long black fur coat that falls down to her knees. It actually fits perfectly and is so soft.

 

“ _Of course,_ you find the one second-hand fur that actually makes you look like a model,” Arya says with no bite as she takes Sansa’s phone from her and Sansa rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm with a blush, before wrapping the coat tightly around herself.

 

She then turns and looks at herself in the nearby mirror. “I don’t… I actually don’t hate it.”

 

“You should get it,” Arya states, coming up to her side and she snaps a picture of their reflection in the mirror. “As long as you’re not going to wear it for Jon with nothing underneath,” she is quick to add.

 

Sansa just smiles as her blush deepens because that’s actually _exactly_ what she was just imagining doing.

 

…

 

Sansa does her best to not fidget with her fingers and show her nervousness as she sits in the chair on the other side of the desk, her father sitting behind his desk and Robb sitting in the other chair next to hers. Both are listening to the recording on her phone, placed on a stack of papers on Ned’s desk, both wearing matching frowns with furrowed brows.

 

When the five-minute long conversation ends, Sansa reaches out and hits the stop button.

 

Robb and Ned look to her and then to one another.

 

“What are you thinking? Intimidation?” Robb asks.

 

“Without question,” Ned agrees and then looks to Sansa. “I’m going to borrow your phone.”

 

Sansa nods and doesn’t say anything. She certainly doesn’t think to argue.

 

It had been a last moment decision; to record her conversation with Margaery in the bar. As they had sat at their table, she had kept her phone in her back pocket, the volume turned up as loud as it could be, and still, she was worried that nothing could actually be heard or nothing of any importance would be said and she was recording a conversation of Margaery who genuinely still wants to be her friend.

 

Thankfully, it did pick up the sound, but still, Sansa had felt a churning of guilt for recording anything at all. She still is having such a hard time believing that Margaery is involved with the stealing of her designs along with her grandmother. It has to be just her grandmother and Margaery was and is ignorant to it. It _has_ to be.

 

“You really showed some quick thinking, Sansa,” Ned tells her.

 

“When I was told she was there to see me, I wondered if I should call you or Robb, but I didn’t think I had time…” she trails off and is beginning to fidget with her fingers now. “So, intimidation? That’s bad, right?” She knows it’s a stupid question, but she’s not a lawyer and it’s a question she has to ask.

 

“They were served with our lawsuit nearly a week ago. They know we are suing them. Margaery was clearly coming to see you to try and talk you out of it,” Robb explains.

 

“Yes, Sansa,” Ned says when she begins to shake her head as if she doesn’t believe that. He leans forward, folding his hands on his desk in front of him. “Sansa, you lived with Margaery for nearly three years. You sketched in front of her and sewed in front of her and worked in front of her.”

 

“Yes, Sansa,” Robb says this time when she is still shaking her head. “She knows everything about your designs. Her grandmother wouldn’t know that much. She saw your dresses at the fashion show, yes, but Margaery would have seen everything else that made your dresses _yours_.”

 

Sansa nearly shakes her head again, but as Robb and Ned’s words both penetrate her mind, she finds herself growing still, not able to move at all.

 

No, that can’t possibly be right. What? Are Robb and her father suggesting that Margaery has been spying on her for years? No, not at all. When they met, they had just been two young, slightly clueless fashion students. They both had their point of views and they had been completely different. Margaery was Southern and she had always been a Southern designer. Sansa was a Northern designer, trying to be Southern. Why would Margaery _ever_ want to mirror her clothes after Sansa’s? Sansa had always loved Margaery’s designs.

 

Was it when their professors began showing a bit more attention to Sansa? Was it when, during their third year, the fashion department awarded Sansa as one of their most promising future designers? Was all of this simply because Margaery had been jealous and her grandmother had helped her?

 

Sansa doesn’t understand any of it because she couldn’t imagine ever doing that to someone. Her mind just doesn’t work like that and she sits there with her father and brother and as they discuss more papers that need to be filed in regards to the lawsuit, Sansa is quiet, suddenly finding herself replaying her entire years-long friendship with Margaery.  

 

She doesn’t understand it and she wonders if she ever will and she wonders if she had stayed in the South instead of coming home to the North, would she understand it then? 

 

…

 

When they were hired and had been there for a little bit of time, Jon had given Tormund, Daario and then Sansa their own keys to the bar.

 

When Sansa leaves the offices of Stark & Stark, instead of heading home, she heads to Castle Black Bar. Right now, the only person she wants to see is Jon. The bar is closed still and she parks in the back and unlocks the back door, quickly stepping into the hallway and disarming the alarm system as it beeps. She can hear Ghost barking and then he comes around the corner from Jon’s office and when he sees that it’s her, he trots eagerly down the hallway to her, his tail swishing from side to side.

 

“Hi, Ghost,” she rubs his ears quickly before locking the door behind her and setting the alarm again.

 

Ghost leads the way and Sansa follows down the hall, around the corner, and she exhales a heavy sigh upon seeing Jon sitting at his desk in his office. She feels like she can breathe – as if she’s had difficulty doing so all day; ever since she left his flat this morning, but now that she’s back and she’s seeing him again after a few hours apart, she feels the ache in her chest easing and inhaling and exhaling seems to come so much easier.

 

Jon is wearing his reading glasses, his black curls haphazard on his head, and he smiles when he sees her.

 

“Hey,” he greets her. “What time is it?” He then looks to the clock on his computer screen. He then turns his chair back to her, still smiling, but it starts to disappear. “Everything okay?” He then asks.

 

Sansa hasn’t said anything. She’s just standing in the doorway, looking at him, and she just feels _so_ much in that moment. He’s looking at her and she thinks of Arya’s words and the way she saw Jon looking at Sansa.

 

_Like you’re everything._

And she’s never felt that before. No one has ever felt like that about her before. Sansa knows she’s beautiful. People have been telling her all her life; guys have been telling her since puberty. But still, she’s never felt truly wanted before and not just because of how she looks on the outside.

 

But Jon – sweet and kind and handsome Jon – who gave her a job when she came home even though she had absolutely no waitressing experience; who always makes her smile and when she talks, he really listens to her; who comes to meet her parents as her boyfriend, even though he knew that a full-fledged interrogation might have been waiting for him. Jon, who sits there and is smiling at her, as if he’s so genuinely happy to see her and he’s only happy when she’s here.

 

Where would she be if she hadn’t come back home and hadn’t come to Castle Black Bar?

 

She looks at Jon and she feels so much for him in that moment, it almost makes her want to sit down from the spinning in her head and the pulling in her stomach.

 

But instead, she’s able to leave the office doorway and come around his desk. Jon turns his chair around so he’s facing her now and without a word, she lowers herself sideways on his lap, her arms sliding around his shoulders, and as his arms circle around her waist, Sansa presses her lips gently to his.

 

“I love you,” she whispers.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love this chapter and showing a bit more of Sansa's life outside the bar. Much more Jon/Sansa in the next chapter and another sleepover as well!


	19. Nineteen

…

 

Sansa waits to feel embarrassed or scared from saying those three words and she expects to find herself in a panic, wishing she could take it back, but none of those feelings rush over her.

 

Instead, she says the three words, perched in Jon’s lap, and she can’t really explain it, but now, she feels _light_.

 

She doesn’t expect Jon to say it back and she doesn’t wait for him to. Jon is staring at her with serious, dark eyes and she gives him a small smile as she pushes his glasses up to rest on top of his head. She then rubs the sides of his nose with her index fingers where the glass’s pads had been resting.

 

“Sansa,” Jon finally speaks and his fingers lightly circle around her wrists.

 

Sansa stops rubbing his nose to look at him. She waits for him to continue past her name and she finds herself holding her breath, having absolutely no idea what he is going to say, but _hoping_ that it’s something she wants to hear.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

But then he says those four words and she exhales the breath she has been holding and then, rather unexpectedly, she lets out a laugh. Tears well into her eyes, but she’s absolutely beaming. And when Jon sees her smiling, he promptly bursts into his own smile; that wide smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle; the smile that Sansa is always wanting to get out of him.

 

Jon lets go of her wrists so he can bring his hands to her head, his fingers tangled back in her hair, and he pulls her head gently to his, capturing her lips. Sansa instantly sinks into the kiss, her own hands sliding into the curls at the back of his head, wishing she wasn’t sitting sideways on his lap because right now, she wants to straddle him so she can be as close to him as she possibly can. Unfortunately, his wheeled chair isn’t the ideal chair to be straddling anything. All she can do is hold him tightly and kiss him hungrily.

 

“How did this happen?” She hears herself murmur against his lips.

 

She can feel Jon smiling broadly against hers and she can’t help, but start giggling. Soon, she’s giggling so much, she can hardly kiss him and she has to pull her head back. Jon is still smiling widely and as he looks into her face, he then shakes his head slightly.

 

“What did you say? Better late than never,” he says and Sansa leans in, giving him a quick smack of a kiss. “I love you, Sansa,” Jon says and Sansa wonders if she’s going to spend the rest of her life, smiling. She can’t imagine ever frowning again; not with Jon Snow telling her that he loves her.

 

“I love you, too,” she says and the words come easy.

 

She has spent her entire life in love with the idea of being in love and she always thought that when she truly fell in love with someone, there would be fireworks exploding and a rush of orchestra music blaring and birds singing. She thought it would be just like in the movies; that falling in love was like some huge production.

 

But instead, it’s this. Sitting in Jon’s lap in his office in his bar, smiling and laughing and feeling so happy in that moment because she loves someone and that someone loves her in return. She’s never been happy like this. She actually didn’t know that being this happy was even humanly possible. There are no fireworks or an orchestra and there are a couple of birds chirping outside that she can hear through the window, but there’s Jon, his fingers still in her hair and his eyes settled in hers and he _loves_ her. This amazing man – the best man she’s ever met – loves her. Why does she suddenly feel like she can do absolutely anything? Is that what it means to be truly in love with someone and have that someone love her? She should ask her mother.

 

The phone on his desk begins to ring and Jon wraps an arm around her waist, keeping her on his lap, and he leans forward, picking up the phone with his other hand.

 

“Castle Black Bar,” he answers.

 

Sansa can’t help, but lean forward and brush her lips along the line of his jaw. Jon squeezes his arm around her in response and Sansa’s lips curve into a smile against his skin.

 

“We open at four,” Jon says to the person on the other end. “You’re welcome.”

 

He hangs up and Sansa is in the middle of laughing as Jon presses his lips to hers for another kiss.

 

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this to you…” he begins, but Sansa already knows.

 

“You finish your orders. I’ll start getting the bar ready and then I’ll go home and get Lady and my bag and I’ll be back by six for my shift,” Sansa says and with a kiss between his brows, she pulls herself from his lap, standing up. “Is it alright if Lady and I spend the night?” She then asks.

 

Yes, she and Jon have just told one another that they love each other, but still, Sansa doesn’t want to start assuming things in their relationship.

 

Jon looks up at her with a little smirk. “That’s probably the dumbest thing anyone has ever asked me.”

 

Sansa promptly reaches out and pinches him in the shoulder.

 

“Sansa Stark,” Jon sits up in his hair and grabs hold of her hips as she stands between his legs. “Will you and Lady please spend the night in my flat tonight?” He asks, looking up to her.

 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Sansa teases in response and Jon breaks into an eye-crinkling grin.

 

Her heart clenches in her chest just _thinking_ about how much she loves this man. Jon Snow has been in her life for so long, and she’s so grateful that she finally started seeing him.

 

More than once, she has tried to imagine where she would be right now if she hadn’t come back home; if she hadn’t let school with laughter from the Southern critics and her “friends” ringing in her ears.

 

Would she be dating some man from the South? She imagines she would still come home for vacations and breaks and she might even come to Castle Black Bar with Robb and Arya. She’d smile and she imagines that Jon would ask her how school is going and she would give him some generic response, “Good”, because while she knows Jon, she doesn’t _know_ him well enough to talk extensively with him about anything. And then she’d order a Lemon Drop – because she wouldn’t know how much she loves Heineken – and then she’d sit at a table for a couple of hours before going home and that would be that.

 

It all sounds so awful to Sansa now. Awful and lonely, but if she had stayed South, she wouldn’t have known anything different and that’s probably a more terrifying thought to her than any of the others. Not knowing Jon and not loving Jon and not having Jon love her, if Sansa had stayed South, she knows she never would have been _truly_ happy and she probably never would have understood why.

 

“And don’t worry about getting the bar ready,” Jon breaks through her thoughts. “That’s what I pay Dickon for. I want to see if he’s able to do it.”

 

Sansa smiles faintly, but it fades and then she opens her mouth to reply to that before she remembers herself and closes her mouth once again.

 

Jon notices though. Of course he notices. “What?” He asks as his hands give her hips a gentle squeeze.

 

She shakes her head. “I know it’s not my place, but…” she trails off then, wanting to pick the right words.

 

“When am I going to let Daario back?” Jon guesses correctly. Sansa nods and Jon sighs, not letting go of her hips as he leans back in his chair once more. He simply pulls on her so she steps further in between his knees.

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sansa makes sure that he knows.

 

Jon continues as if she hadn’t said anything. “I was thinking of giving him a call this Friday. Ask him to start back up next Tuesday. I never wanted him to be suspended forever and I…” he smirks a little. “I miss him.”

 

“Me, too,” Sansa agrees in case he has it in his head that missing Daario is strange.

 

She can’t explain it. It’s not like Dickon isn’t a perfectly nice young man and he seems to be a good bartender, but… well, he isn’t Daario. Daario and Tormund have become two of her closest friends since she has begun working at Castle Black Bar and with Daario suspended, the bar just doesn’t seem complete somehow. She misses when the four of them would hang out after the bar is officially closed, listening to music and drinking beers and counting from the tip jar. They haven’t done that with Dickon yet. It hasn’t felt right to Sansa and she wonders if Tormund and Jon silently think the same thing.

 

Jon sighs heavily then. “I hate being the boss,” he mutters and Sansa smiles as he leans forward then, resting his forehead against her stomach.

 

She begins combing her fingers of one hand through his curls on the back of his head. “I think you’re amazing,” she hears herself whispering and Jon’s fingers flex around her hips. He then lifts his head and tilts it up so he can look at her. She gives him a slight smile.

 

“At running a bar or something else?” He asks.

 

“At everything,” she says and she’s not sure why, but she feels herself blushing from telling him that. She bends down and gives him a soft kiss. “I’m going to go home and get my things together for tonight.”

 

“I’ll walk you out,” Jon offers, beginning to stand.

 

“I can walk myself out,” Sansa says, putting her hands to his shoulders and gently pushing him down in his chair again. “You have ordering to finish up. A dry bar is a useless bar,” she teases and Jon gives a smile.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says just as she is about to walk through the doorway. She stops and turns to look at him and her heart feels like it stops in her chest mid-beat. The way he’s looking at her… if he hadn’t already told her that he loves her, she would look at him right now and know already that he does. “I love you,” he tells her.

 

Sansa’s smile is instant. “I love you, too. See you in a bit.”

 

She blows him a kiss and he cracks into that grin of his and Sansa practically skips out of the bar to her car.

 

…

 

There is a reason that Jon hired Tormund to man the door of the bar.

 

Not that Castle Black Bar is the kind of bar that needs someone to always keep the peace. Yes, there has been a few fights – as Sansa can attest – but for the most part, it’s a good, safe bar with people coming from the offices in the neighborhood and the nearby college. If something does happen though, Tormund swiftly takes care of it; the large red-head with the fierce eyes (when he wants them to be fierce), who is more than capable of handling and squashing things and keeping the peace in Castle Black Bar.

 

His eyes are like Jon’s – quick to survey the entire bar and see everything that’s happening within seconds. 

 

Still, Sansa goes up to him to tell him. “That blonde girl-”

 

“I see,” Tormund says with a single nod, his eyes already watching the scene happening in the back of the bar. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

“I asked if she wanted help, but she told me she could handle it,” Sansa says, also now watching the petite blonde young woman, trying to deal with a near belligerent young man with her, his hands roaming all over her body as the woman tries to get him to stop.

 

When the couple had come into the bar not even an hour before, the man had already been drunk. Jon hadn’t wanted to serve him and call him a taxi instead, but the man had demanded – loudly – and finally, Jon gave him one glass of Guinness and said that that was all he was going to be getting.

 

Someone has played Florence + The Machine on the jukebox – _Cosmic Love_ , which is Sansa’s favorite Florence song – but right now, she is like Tormund. She can’t enjoy the song as she watches the couple; the drunk man and his girlfriend, who is growing more and more uncomfortable with him trying to feel her up.

 

Tormund glances towards Sansa. “Go on, love,” he says, giving her a smile beneath his beard. “I’ll handle it.”

 

Sansa knows he will and she gives him a small smile before returning to the bar to pick up the drinks for one of her tables that Dickon has finished mixing for her.

 

Tormund goes back to watching the couple, the guy practically boxing the woman against the wall. She’s a little thing. Petite and small with pale like snow skin and long, wavy blonde hair that goes to nearly her waist. She’s beautiful. Tormund had thought so the instant she had walked in with that drunken punce.

 

The man’s getting angry. Tormund can tell. The woman keeps trying to get him to stop; to stop his hands from roaming all over her body, and he’s getting angry, spitting something at her that Tormund can’t hear over the music and the other bar noise, but he can still just imagine what the words the man is saying are.

 

Tormund wants to go pull the man away, but technically, he hasn’t done anything. Tormund can’t throw a guy out just for being an asshole – no matter how badly he wants to.

 

He glances towards the bar and Jon is watching the couple as well. He senses Tormund looking at him and without a word, Jon cocks his head towards the two and Tormund nods, grateful for the permission.

 

He crosses the bar within an instant and when the blonde woman sees him, her eyes widen. She has the most beautiful, green eyes he’s ever seen in a female’s head. They remind him of martini olives.

 

“Alright, mate,” Tormund claps a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder. “Time to go.”

 

“Yeah? Says who?” The man turns and he’s clearly not expecting someone Tormund’s size to be the one standing behind him if his visible swallowing is any indication.

 

Tormund does his best to not smile. “Me. Uber or taxi. Your choice.”

 

“Myrcella will drive me,” the man says, turning to stand straight in front of Tormund, trying to appear tough.

 

Again, Tormund tries not to smile at the pathetic display. He looks back to the woman, still against the wall. Myrcella, he assumes. It’s a beautiful name. It makes sense that this woman would have a name to match.

 

Ever so slightly, Myrcella shakes her head and Tormund looks back to the man. “I’m not telling her it’s time to go. _You’re_ the one who has to leave.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere without my girlfriend,” the man all, but sneers.

 

And then, he makes a mistake.

 

He reaches back to Myrcella and wraps his fingers around her wrist; tight enough to make her wince slightly. That’s more than enough for Tormund. Without a word and without hesitating, he grabs the man roughly.

 

“Hey!” He releases Myrcella’s wrist so he can try his hardest to push Tormund off, but it’s like moving a firmly planted tree.

 

Tormund treats the man as if he would a fruit fly – hardly paying attention to him at all – and half drags him towards the door. Jon is already there, holding it open for him and Tormund none too gently tosses the man out onto the sidewalk. The man stumbles, trying to gain his footing again, grabbing a parking meter to gain his balance again.

 

“I’m calling the police!” The man threatens and Tormund simply dusts his hands off and goes back inside.

 

“Call the police and have them give you a ride home,” Jon says before going back inside as well.

 

The other patrons in the bar being cheering and applauding and Jon gives a slight smile to them all before going back behind the bar and Tormund grins, giving a dramatic bow.

 

He takes his spot next to the door again and his eyes find Myrcella again. She’s slipping on her coat and picking up her purse. She finds Sansa and asks her something. Sansa answers her with a smile and points to the hallway where the bathrooms are. Myrcella disappears and Tormund tries to concentrate back on his job at hand.

 

He’s not going to admit to anyone that he’s watching the back-hallway closer than he usually does.

 

…

 

She knows they should probably get beneath the covers, but honestly, Sansa is still feeling too warm for that. Once again, Jon is in nothing, but his boxers and Sansa is in nothing, but her underwear and she’s lying on her back, trying to catch her breath as she looks up to the ceiling, the slightest tremors still quaking throughout her body, and Jon is lying on his side, facing her.

 

She’s heard about women who are able to have an orgasm just from having their nipples and breasts played with, but she had never known that she was one of them. Until tonight and Jon’s mouth, tongue and hands had been relentless. So blissfully relentless.

 

“Stop,” she finally says.

 

“Stop what?” Jon asks.

 

Sansa turns her head on the pillow to look at him and just as she knew he was, she sees that he’s smiling.

 

“You seem quite proud of yourself,” she states.

 

Jon lets out a short laugh and moves in closer to her, his hand sliding over her stomach, and Sansa runs her hand up his arm, releasing a happy sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as Jon’s nose nudges her jaw.

 

“Of course, I’m proud of myself,” he murmurs. “You were screaming my name. No better sound than that.”

 

“I wasn’t _screaming_ it,” Sansa says, her cheeks flushed.

 

Jon just smiles because they both know that she most definitely was and he moves his lips to the side of her neck, making her shiver. Sansa turns more onto her side towards him, her body pressing against his.

 

“Thank you for being patient with me,” she says quietly, her eyes meeting his.

 

Jon lifts a hand to the side of her face, brushing some hair back. “You’re thanking me like I’m doing some great thing.”

 

“Aren’t you?” Sansa genuinely asks and Jon smiles at the question, dipping his head in and kissing her.

 

Her hand trails up his arm to his bicep and her other rests on his cheek as she kisses him in return, parting her lips enough for his tongue to dip inside and to make her moan softly.

 

“I don’t think a guy going as fast or as slow as his girlfriend wants to go is something that needs to be thanked,” Jon says once their lips part. “I’m not going anywhere, Sansa. If down to our underwear is all you ever want to do, I’m still not going anywhere.”

 

Sansa doesn’t reply to that. She loves Jon and she believes Jon, but she can’t help, but have a hard time believing that. _No_ guy would be happy with a relationship that never progressed to the next intimate level; she doesn’t care how wonderful that guy is.

 

“Sansa, did something happen to you while you were South?” Jon asks and his voice is quiet, but Sansa can already see the tightening in his jaw as if he’s already imagining _something_ happening.

 

Sansa shakes her head. “No. I promise. No. It’s just… I went out with a guy down there. My first and last dating experience there. After three dates and he was already dropping hints that there’s a three-date rule-”

 

“Says who?” Jon nearly growls.

 

Sansa presses on. “I basically slept with him to shut him up about it and I absolutely _hated_ myself afterwards. I didn’t want to. I didn’t have feelings towards him, but I slept with him anyway. He never forced me, Jon. He was just… _persistent_.”

 

“That’s the same fucking thing, Sansa,” Jon frowns fiercely. “I fucking hate the South,” he then mutters and she almost points out that guys can be like that anywhere, but she keeps that to herself.

  
Sansa puts both of her hands on his cheeks now and pulls him down gently so she can kiss him. “You’ve already made me feel so good, Jon,” she whispers, hardly lifting her lips from his to do so, her heart feeling so full within her chest, it almost hurts. “I didn’t know it could feel this good and you… you haven’t even been _inside_ of me yet.”

 

Jon lifts his head enough so he can look into her eyes.

 

Sansa’s embarrassed to feel that hers are becoming wet with unshed tears. “I love you so much.”

 

Jon’s hands sweep up to her face and he kisses her again. “I love you so much, Sansa,” he echoes and he begins placing the lightest, sweetest kisses all over her face, kissing away the few tears that decide to slide from her eyes down her cheeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tormund/Myrcella is such a crack-ship of mine. I hope you like this chapter! Thank you!


	20. Twenty

…

 

The first thing Jon sees when he opens his eyes – and can actually focus them – is that he’s alone. He frowns and lifts his head from the pillow, his eyes looking around his bedroom before looking to the clock on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. He already considers this to be his side of the bed and the now empty space next to him to be Sansa’s side of the bed.

 

It’s just a few minutes past ten. He has no idea where Sansa is. He doesn’t hear her in the bathroom and he can’t imagine that she would just go home without at least waking him up to tell him so.

 

Pulling himself from the bed, he first goes into the bathroom before heading out into the living room, stopping short when he sees Sansa. She is curled up on one corner of the sofa, a sketchpad open in her lap,  pencil in her fingers, and Lady is dozing on the cushions next to her. He doesn’t see Ghost, but Jon can hear crunching in the kitchen and he now knows Ghost is eating his breakfast.

 

Sensing him, Sansa turns her head and when she sees him, she instantly smiles.

 

Jon keeps standing there, unable to move for a moment, unable to do much of anything except stare at her.

 

He is so in love with her and what’s even more incredible than that, she loves him, too. Sansa Stark loves him. He’s gone his entire life, knowing her, and yet, he’d never had thought that Sansa Stark would ever love him or that he would love her in return. Why would he ever even think that? They had known one another, but they hadn’t known one another at all. And now, they’re in love and she’s sitting on the couch, in the morning after spending the night, wearing her pajamas and looking like she belongs here and nowhere else.

 

Jon doesn’t want her to ever be somewhere else.

 

“Good morning,” she says, breaking into his thoughts. “I’ve made some coffee already if you want any.”

 

“I do,” Jon nods and finally is able to move forward. He comes to the back of the couch and bending down, he presses a kiss to the side of Sansa’s neck, feeling her smile. “Are you sketching?” He asks and he doesn’t mean to sound so happy about the possibility, but he can’t really help himself.

 

There had been a time, not so long ago, when Sansa almost always had a pencil and sketchpad and was always drawing away; any time a moment of inspiration struck her for some sort of new design she just _had_ to get out in that very moment. Since coming back home from the South though, sketching anything had been pretty much dropped by Sansa entirely; another thing that the South had taken from her.

 

“I am,” Sansa nods with a small smile, tilting her head up to look at him. “Nothing spectacular. I’ve had a couple of ideas for the pub crawl tee-shirt.”

 

Jon smiles at that. “I think that’s pretty spectacular. May I see them?”

 

Sansa pauses for only a moment before nodding again. “Get your coffee and then I’ll show you.”

 

Jon gives her another smile before doing just that. He had bought a container of creamer, knowing that Sansa likes it with her coffee, but for himself, he prefers it black – which he doesn’t think would be a surprise to anyone. And after filling up a mug from the pot on the counter, smiling to himself at the image of Sansa pulling herself from _their_ bed and coming into _their_ kitchen and fixing a pot of coffee for the both of them, Jon heads back into the living room.

 

“Sorry, Lady. You have to move,” Sansa says in a gentle voice to her dog. “Just for a moment,” she then promises and Jon snickers before taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“Just for a moment?” He asks, teasing her, and Sansa smiles, too, as she continues pushing Lady gently from the cushion next to her.

 

Finally, with a snort and a huff, Lady removes herself from the sofa and goes to go drop herself on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. Jon settles down next to Sansa, unable to hide his excitement – knowing that she can see it in his eyes and the smile he can’t stop from forming.

 

“They’re just tee-shirts, Jon,” Sansa reminds him.

 

Jon promptly ignores that comment. “Let me see,” he says and then clears his throat. “ _May_ I see them?”

 

Sansa lets out a soft giggle at that and shifts her body so hers is pressed against his. “Now, I don’t know if you know this, but Castle Black Bar does not have a logo.”

 

Jon has just taken a sip of his coffee and he pauses to swallow. “Do I need a logo?” He asks while thinking of Mormont’s. Jeor hadn’t had a logo for his pub and it hadn’t seemed to hurt him.

 

Sansa smiles at him. “It would certainly help, designing a tee-shirt for you. But I’ve made you two and you get to choose which one you like the best. Now, we have to keep it simple. It’s a tee-shirt. We’re getting them printed and they can’t be some elaborate design. Castle Black Bar isn’t elaborate.”

 

Jon just smiles at that and watches as Sansa opens her pad to the sketches she was working on.

 

“Yes,” he says instantly and Sansa laughs.

 

“Stop. You need to just look and let me explain and _then_ you can make a decision.”

 

“I want them both.”

 

“ _One_ logo. _One_ design. That’s how this works, Jon.”

 

“Fine,” he sighs.

 

Sansa smiles and she can’t help, but lean in and give him a soft, lingering kiss on his bearded jaw. Jon smiles at her, too, and switching his coffee cup to his other hand, he lifts his arm and circles it around her shoulders. He can get used to this. He _wants_ to get used to this. He wants to ask Sansa to move in with him rather than her constantly packing bags and going back and forth. Lady’s at home here already and he likes to think that Sansa is at home in his flat already, too, and he wants his flat to become _their_ flat.

 

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath as if she’s nervous and Jon knows that she probably is.

 

She hasn’t designed since she left school – after _that_ fashion show that had pushed her into leaving in the first place and having her precious designs stolen by someone who she had thought was her friend – and Jon wants to tell her that she has absolutely no reason to be nervous; tell her that these designs are _amazing_ , but he doesn’t tell her that because he knows Sansa well enough now to know that she won’t want to hear that.

 

“Okay,” she says again, taking another deep breath. “The first one, it would be a gray tee-shirt with this black castle on the front left with ‘CBB’ in white printed inside of the castle. And then on the back, in black, the name of the bar across the top. We can figure out the script you would want it in. Something perhaps more of a gothic-type font.

 

“And this one, I’m imagining it to be a navy blue tee-shirt with this white wolf on the front left. And then on the back, also in white, Castle Black Bar across the top. And again, we could figure out the script if this is the one you want to go with. Or, if you want to go with the castle design, we can make that a navy blue tee-shirt. Whatever you want. I just don’t recommend putting the castle _and_ wolf on the same tee-shirt. That’d be too busy and over-designing. So, what do you think?”

 

Jon looks at the various sketches on the paper – of different castles, of different wolves, of different tee-shirts with Castle Black Bar written in different types of lettering. She’s done this for him. He asked her to design a tee-shirt for the pub crawl coming up and honestly, he would be fine with black tee-shirts with the name of the bar written in white on the back.

 

But Sansa has taken it one step further. She’s giving his bar a _logo_ ; an identity.

 

He knows that if he tells her all of this, she won’t believe him. He can just imagine her blushing and rolling her eyes and saying something like, “It’s just a tee-shirt, Jon.”

 

But it’s more than that. This bar is one of the most important things in his life. It had been the most important thing – before Sansa – but it’s still very high up on the list of things that matter that most to him, and it feels like she’s giving _him_ an identity now, too. He’s the owner of Castle Black Bar – the bar that has a logo and shows old VH1 reality shows and has the huge white dog on certain nights, behind the bar, and has the prettiest waitress in all of Winterfell.

 

“Or, if you want to go a completely different direction and not use either of these, we can go look at the tee-shirt designs in some of the shops-”

 

Jon cuts Sansa off from saying anything like that further. With his free hand, he turns her head towards him and instantly presses his lips to hers. Sansa seems surprised for a moment before her mind seems to catch up and he feels the instant she melts into the kiss, her lips shyly pressing back to his, matching his set pressure as her hand lifts to rest on his cheek.

 

“I love you,” he tells her once he – reluctantly – parts his mouth from hers. “And I love both of these.”

 

“They’re just tee-shirts, Jon,” she says just as he knows that she would have.

 

Jon kisses her again.

 

“Do you mind if I keep this? I want to study both of them,” he says and Sansa’s cheeks are noticeably pinker as she carefully tears the page from the sketchpad and holds it out for him. Jon takes it and kisses her on the cheek. “I love you,” he whispers to her, not able to imagine himself ever getting tired of saying those words.

 

Sansa turns her head and smiles at him before kissing his jaw again. “I love you, too.”

 

And he knows he’ll never be able to imagine himself ever getting tired of hearing those words.

 

…

 

Dickon is understandably disappointed when Jon tells him – even though Dickon had known, going into it, that the bartending gig had only been temporary – and Jon finds himself promising Dickon that if the bar ever gets exceptionally crazy, he will call Dickon for help and Dickon readily and eagerly agrees. Though Jon finds himself being sometimes irrationally jealous of the guy, he doesn’t deny that Dickon is a good bartender.

 

Daario comes back on Tuesday – the first Tuesday of Jon’s planned VH1 reality show marathon in the bar. He figures Tuesdays would be the best night for something like that. It’s always, usually, the slowest night in the bar and Jon thinks that it will be good to draw a few more people in.

 

He doesn’t advertise it. He doesn’t send out flyers or hang a sign outside. He figures that the patrons in the bar that Tuesday night will be – hopefully – pleasantly surprised by it and through word of mouth, more will be in the bar the following Tuesday for another night of it.

 

When he opens the bar door at four, Jon wonders if he _should_ have advertised it, but then he shakes his head. No. Jeor never advertised things. And if it was something Jeor did with his own bar, Jon will follow in his mentor’s footsteps and do the same for himself and his own bar.

 

Daario and Jon smile at one another as Jon goes to join him behind the bar.

 

Jon’s not going to lie. What would be the point in lying about it? It feels good to have Daario back. He and Dickon had worked fine together and it had been obvious that Dickon had been eager to please and prove himself to Jon, but with Daario, Jon very much feels as if he has an extra pair of arms and Daario feels the same in regards to Jon. After a couple of weeks, they began working seamlessly with one another and it’s only gotten better. Jon doesn’t have to constantly watch Daario from the corner of his eye and if one night, Jon stays upstairs in his flat because he feels under the weather, he knows that with Daario behind the bar and Tormund at the door, Castle Black Bar will survive without him.

 

At least for one night.

 

“Good to be back?” Jon asks, grabbing two tall glasses so he can mix the sea breezes for the two women across from him.

 

“Very good to be back,” Daario nods with a smile, filling a pitcher of beer for Sansa to take to a table of college students.

 

Jon’s glad there’s some of them in here tonight. College kids will definitely spread the word on a VH1 reality show night. Jon’s already sent a text to Arya and she has promised to be here with some of her friends. Jon had asked – quite innocently in his opinion – if Gendry will be among those “friends” and Arya had simply responded to his question with the middle-finger emoji.

 

“Did I miss anything good?” Daario asks.

 

Jon smiles a little as he finishes mixing his drinks and hands them over to the women, not even noticing as both women give him smiles that might be considered a little on this side of too friendly. He looks past both women and watches Sansa as she drops the pitcher of beer off at the table with glasses, smiling as she talks to the group of students.

 

She’s wearing her usual Converse sneakers, skinny jeans and that black turtleneck sweater that shows the tiniest sliver of her stomach when she turns a certain way; her hair having dried in waves after her shower that morning and now tumbling down her back. She’s dressed as she always is and Jon tries to remember the last time when she had looked more beautiful than she does right now.

 

Jon thinks it has something to do with him loving her and knowing that she loves him, too.

 

“No, you didn’t,” Jon shakes his head. “It’s been… weird without you,” he then admits.

 

Daario grins at that. “Aww, boss. Did you miss me?”

 

“You’re suspended again,” Jon frowns and Daario lets out a laugh.

 

For a moment, both are distracted making drinks for those who come up to the bar.

 

“You okay?” Jon asks when there’s a lull. “With Beth and-”

 

“Can we not do this?” Daario swiftly cuts him off. “I don’t want to have a heart-to-heart right now.”

 

Jon nods and nearly apologizes before he changes his mind. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to check on Daario – his employee (and his friend though Daario doesn’t have to know that). He did, after all, get suspended for throwing a glass at his ex… hook up’s new boyfriend. Jon tells himself he just wants to make sure that Daario isn’t going to do something like that again.

 

“Of course we don’t have to do this. Just… if you need to…”

 

Daario is looking down to the floor, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown across his face, but when Jon says that, the other man looks at him and gives his head a single nod.

 

“Thanks,” he says and he tries to twitch his lips into a smile, but doesn’t seem to be succeeding. It looks like he’s going to say something else, his lips parted to do so, but then he clears his throat and looks away. He practically leaps forward when Sansa arrives at the bar with a new slip of paper. “What do you need?” Daario readily asks, clearly desperate for any kind of distraction from this conversation.

 

“That table of moms is back,” Sansa says, smiling at Jon. “Three of them want mint juleps tonight. Apparently, you make the best mint julep in town.”

 

“That’s one reputation I’ll take,” Jon smiles and Sansa beams at him.

 

The door swings open and Arya enters among a group of her friends, all talking and laughing excitedly.

 

“We’re here!” Arya calls out, spotting Jon and Sansa at the bar.

 

“Stop. I need to check IDs,” Tormund says before the group can walk further into the bar and disperse and he then gives Arya a pointed look when she frowns at him. “And just for that, I’m checking yours first. I keep telling Jon he needs to enforce a height requirement for the bar,” he mutters.

 

Arya swiftly punches him in the arm and snatches her ID back from him.

 

“Is Gendry here?” Sansa asks Jon, looking over Arya’s friends, having never seen Gendry before.

 

Jon looks, too, and then – with a confused frown – he shakes his head. “Where’s Gendry?” He asks Arya when she comes up to the bar and promptly orders five Guinness’s from Daario for her and her friends.

 

“He has a huge test tomorrow,” Arya answers before her face twists up into a scowl. “And did you really think I would bring him here after your text?”

 

“What?” Jon shrugs and smiles at her before looking down to the drinks he’s mixing. “There’s nothing wrong with wondering if you’re going to bring your boyfriend around or not.”

 

“Just because you started dating my sister and promptly handed your balls over to her does not mean that I’m going to expose Gendry to any of what this family loves to put boyfriends through,” Arya says, still frowning.

 

Sansa smiles at her sister. “So you _are_ dating Gendry?” She asks.

  
Arya lets out a frustrated and _loud_ groan and then snatches her Guinness before going to the table her friends have gotten for themselves. Sansa giggles and when she looks back to Jon, he gives her a grin and a wink before gently placing the three mint juleps on her tray.

 

“Jon?” Sansa asks then, the humor slowly fading from her face, being taken over with a serious look that instantly has Jon standing a bit straighter, his own smile disappearing. “Do you…” she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever she’s about to say. “In your flat…” she leans forward over the bar and Jon follows her lead, leaning over the bar so their heads are closer together. “Do you have condoms?” She whispers to him thought she honestly could have screamed it and Jon would have heard it the same.

 

The question explodes in his ears.

 

“Sansa…” he begins to say. He then shakes his head. He hasn’t had sex for some time, if he’s being honest, and he’s never been the sort to just “hook up” with a random girl. “I’ll have to go out and buy some, but Sansa… I thought you wanted to take things slow. I told you. I’ll wait as long as you want. It doesn’t matter to me. I just love having you in my bed, any way I can get you, to be honest.”

 

“I know,” she says and gives him a faint smile then. “But… I love you. And I really would like to have sex with my boyfriend. Who I love.”

 

“I haven’t even taken you out on a date,” Jon hears himself say and he’s wondering why the hell he’s finding an excuse to _not_ have sex with Sansa.

 

Because he doesn’t want her to think that she _has_ to. Just because they’ve said those three words to each other and share a bed and he’s her boyfriend, he doesn’t want Sansa to think that this is what he expects.

 

Sansa looks at him for a moment before her smile melts her entire face. “You want to take me out on a date?” She asks and even though he’s mentioned it to her, about taking her out on a proper date, she clearly has either forgotten about it or didn’t necessarily believe him.

 

“I do,” he nods. “I really do.”

 

Her smile has taken over her entire face now and she can’t help, but lean in and give him a kiss. “Alright. I would love to go on a date with you.”

 

Jon smiles, too, and with a hand slipping to the back of her head, he guides her into another kiss.

 

“Jon!” Arya shouts and both Jon and Sansa turn their heads to look at her. “Are we going to do this? It’s already seven and I want to watch at least three episodes!”

 

Jon exhales a sigh and then with a kiss to Sansa’s forehead, he comes to walk around the bar. When he announces to everyone there that night what he is going to do, the cheers are instant; instantly raucous. He has them choose: first three episodes of the first season of _Rock of Love_ or the first three episodes of the first season of _Flavor of Love_. And after _Flavor of Love_ wins the vote, Jon begins to play the first episode, making sure the television’s volume is on at full power.

 

Sansa has delivered the mint juleps to the moms and again, he gets thumbs up. Jon gives them all a grin. As Sansa goes from the tables, asking if she can get anyone refills, Jon watches her and Sansa feels it. She turns her head and looks at him, watching her, and she gives him a smile; a smile he is more than ready to return.

 

He’ll take Sansa out on a date tomorrow night. Wherever she wants to go. And he’ll be sure to reiterate to her that they are in absolutely no hurry. But, just in case, he’ll be sure to buy some condoms after the bar closes tonight and keep them in his nightstand drawer. Just in case.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU!


	21. Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff and more fluff. Enjoy!

…

 

“And he didn’t say anything other than that?” Beth asks from the open laptop on the bed.

 

“No,” Sansa shakes her head. “Just to dress casually. Not even a clue as to where we’re going.”

 

She turns back towards her closet, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, still having absolutely _no_ idea what to wear for her first official date with Jon. It’s so silly – that she and Jon are just _now_ going on a date – and yet, her heart is thudding rapidly with anticipation in her chest. She’s really going out on a date with Jon. They’re _dating_. Jon is her boyfriend and she’s Jon’s girlfriend. They _love_ each other.

 

Sansa puts her hands on her cheeks, feeling herself smiling as she stands there; unable to stop smiling.

 

She spins back to the laptop. Sweet Beth, who is using her lunch break at the bank to talk with Sansa, is eating from her cup-of-noodles and shakes her head when Sansa holds up a skirt.

 

“So that’s casual in your mind?” Beth asks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

 

Sansa pauses and looks at the skirt. “Yes?” She answers, unsurely. She then sighs heavily and turns to hang the skirt back up. Of course, that’s not casual, but she wears jeans and sweaters every day and she can’t go out on her first date with Jon in something he sees her wear every single day. “Gahhhh!” She groans loudly.

 

“Did you just gah?” Beth asks, laughing around her noodles.

 

“Beth!” Sansa rushes in front of the laptop. “This is serious!”

 

“I can tell. You’re gahhing,” Beth says, still laughing.

 

“What am I doing?” Sansa drops to her knees and rests her head on the bed next to the laptop.

 

“Right now? You’re being _slightly_ dramatic. But only slightly,” Beth replies. “Sansa. Sansa!”

 

“I’m listening,” Sansa mumbles, keeping her head down on the bed.

 

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” Beth tells her and then she leaves the screen.

 

Sansa remains on her knees, her head on the bed. She’s tempted to call Robb. If anyone will know what Jon means by “casual”, it would be Robb. But honestly, she doesn’t want to call her brother for advice on his best friend. Robb seems fine with her and Jon dating; or as fine as he possibly can be. But Sansa doesn’t know how comfortable Robb would be if she asked him anything regarding her relationship with Jon.

 

She doesn’t understand what’s wrong with her. She doesn’t consider herself to be a master of men, but she’s never been quite like this around them either. This… _unsure_. She’s here, questioning every single thing and she has no reason to. She knows that. She and Jon already know that they love one another. She already knows that she wants to be with him and he wants to be with her. She could answer the door in sweats and she knows, she _knows_ , that Jon would still look at her as he always does.

 

Like she’s everything.

 

“Sansa?”

 

“Hi, Pyp,” Sansa greets with her head still resting on the bed. She’s not necessarily surprised or confused as to why Beth had gone to pull Pyp into the bank’s breakroom and to Pyp’s credit, he doesn’t sound _too_ confused.

 

“Tell her what you just told me,” Beth appears again and urges her boyfriend.

 

“Alright. When a guy says casual, wear flat shoes. Nothing with a heel. And jeans. Definitely jeans. Or even those yoga pants you girls like to wear and pass them off as pants even though they’re clearly not pants.” Beth elbows him for that comment and Pyp continues. “ _Not_ a dress or a skirt or anything like that.”

 

Sansa finally lifts her head from the bed to look at her two friends on the other side of the laptop screen. “He _always_ sees me in jeans though. I wanted something different.”

 

“He said casual?” Pyp asks and Sansa nods. “Then jeans it is, I’m afraid.”

 

Sansa can’t stop herself from sighing heavily.

 

“Sansa,” Beth says her name gently. “Remember. It’s Jon.”

 

“I know,” she nods and understands what her friend is saying. She’s just echoing the thoughts Sansa has already had herself. It’s Jon. Jon will love her and think she’s beautiful no matter what she’s wearing. Sansa gives both of her friends smiles. “Thanks for your help, you two. And thanks for using your lunchbreak on me. I’ll convince Jon that your first-round next time you’re in the bar will be on the house.”

 

“Speaking of the bar,” Pyp speaks up. “Sansa, do you think Jon will ever think on having a trivia night?”

 

“Call me later, Sansa,” Beth cuts in before abruptly cutting out and the screen goes black.

 

Sansa smiles, easier this time, as she gets to her feet. She can do this. She _will_ do this. She is going out on a date with Jon this afternoon and she can’t think of anything she would rather be doing in this world than that. She decides to take her own advice. This is Jon. It doesn’t matter what she wears.

 

She takes an extra-long shower, taking the time to shave, and she uses the coconut body wash because Jon commented once, off-handedly, that he liked the smell. She takes her time, drying her hair and then debating whether to leave it down or braid it. She decides to leave it down, letting it dry the rest of the way in those lazy waves her hair gets She’s noticed that when he kisses her, Jon’s hands almost always wind up in her hair. She takes her time, applying her make-up; not too much or heavy, but enough to give her a natural “glow” to her face – though if that’s the make-up or her smile, she’s not sure.

 

As she gets herself dressed, Sansa can’t help, but laugh to herself at the idea of Jon primping himself like this.

 

Once dressed, she stands in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom. After all of that, she’s wearing her favorite pair of dark skinny jeans, her handy pair of black and white Converse sneakers, and a green and white striped turtleneck sweater. She thinks she looks alright. She hopes she does. She can only hope that she’s not _too_ casual.

 

Sansa turns away from the mirror and looks to Lady, who’s lying across the foot of the bed, watching her.

 

“Well?” Sansa asks her faithful companion and Lady thumps her tail against the bed in approval.

 

The doorbell rings then, echoing throughout the house, and Sansa jumps with surprise before swiftly scowling and cursing at herself. She has far surpassed the point of being ridiculous. This is Jon. Her boyfriend – whom she loves; who has seen her practically naked and with who she wants to have sex. It’s Jon!

 

Inhaling and then exhaling a deep breath, Sansa gives herself one more look at her reflection before finally leaving her bedroom, Lady on her heels.

 

Coming down the stairs, Jon and Catelyn are talking in the front foyer and Sansa can’t help but release a breath of relief when she sees what he’s wearing. His coat is unzipped and he’s wearing jeans, his boots and a black sweater. He looks so good in black, it’s a little ridiculous. His hair is pulled back into its man-bun and when he hears her, Jon lifts his eyes to watch her coming down the rest of the stairs and her heart stutters in her chest. She feels so stupid for her earlier display. Jon’s here and he’s looking at her like she’s _everything_.

 

After Sansa gets her coat – and Jon helps her put it on – Catelyn smiles and wishes for them to have a good time and with Sansa’s hand tucked warmly into Jon’s, they leave the house and head to his car, parked on the curb in front of the Stark house.

 

“I was honestly half-expecting your dad to be working from home this afternoon so he could be here when I picked you up,” Jon confesses and Sansa laughs – even if she had been thinking the same thing as well.

 

Without a word, she tugs on Jon’s hand and he turns to look at her. She lifts her hand, sliding it onto his cheek, and Jon smiles now, too, their heads meeting, their lips coming together. The kiss may start off soft, but it doesn’t take long for it to grow a bit more heated. Sansa lifts her hands to rest on Jon’s chest and Jon wraps one arm around her waist, hauling her as close to him as she can be, while his other hand lifts to her cheek. Soon enough, his fingers have slid back into her hair and she’s smiling against his lips.

 

“What?” Jon wonders, pulling his mouth away just far enough to ask.

 

Sansa just smiles and shakes her head. “I’m glad I wore my hair down.”

 

Jon smiles at that as well and leans in for one more kiss, purposely keeping it short. “You ready to go?” He asks, taking a step back as if the distance will help from any more kisses for the moment.

 

“Yes,” Sansa nods and she’s still smiling and she wonders if she’ll ever stop smiling.

 

At his car, Jon opens the passenger door for her and no one has ever done that for her before. Sansa can’t help but give him one more kiss – quick and light – before sliding into her seat and she watches as, after closing her door behind her, Jon jogs around the front of the car before sliding in behind the wheel.

 

“So, I was thinking, our first date could be about both of us,” Jon says, turning a little in his seat so he’s facing her more. “Something you like and then something I like.”

 

“Okay,” Sansa readily nods in agreement. “It sounds perfect.”

 

“So, you say now,” he teases and she just keeps smiling.

 

When Jon turns on the car and when Sansa hears the song playing on the radio, she can’t help, but let out a laugh and Jon smiles his eye-crinkling smile once he truly listens to it as well.

 

“Did you call in a request?” Sansa asks as Jon pulls away from the curb and heads down the curb, _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_ by Queen playing over the radio.

 

“If I made a radio request, I think I could do better than Queen,” Jon comments.

 

“No one can do better than Queen,” she teases and her smile manages to grow even wider when Jon lets out an actual laugh.

 

He drives them through Winterfell and Sansa doesn’t ask where he’s taking them, already knowing that he won’t tell her. As their drive continues, Sansa sits up in her seat and leans forward a little, trying to figure out where Jon is taking her. They’re reaching the area where the museums are located and when she looks at Jon, curiously, he just smiles. They finally reach their destination when he pulls them into the parking lot of the Museum of Northern History and parks in a free space. It’s an odd time – just a little bit before one o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday and there certainly doesn’t seem to be a crowd. When Sansa sees the banners hanging between the monstrous front pillars of the museum, announcing the special exhibits at the museum, she feels a lump forming in her throat.

 

She looks out the windshield for a moment before looking to Jon, waiting for an explanation.

 

“I didn’t know if you’ve already come here to see it or if you even _want_ to see it, but, I know how much you’ve always loved this and, if you want, I would love to look at it with you,” Jon says.

 

Sansa looks at him. Has he always known her this well? No, she can’t imagine that he has. Jon is observant though. He’s quiet and because of that, he’s able to look around a room and take in nearly everything. It’s why he’s so good at what he does. It takes him just seconds to look around the bar and see what has to be done; what customers need drinks; when something is brewing in the air that could lead to trouble.

 

Even if she hadn’t been talking to him, he would have still been listening and even if she hadn’t talked at all, Jon would have looked at whatever book she was reading. Even when they knew each other, but hadn’t known each other at all, Jon had still looked and seen her.

 

Sansa isn’t sure why she feels tears welling in her eyes, but she smiles, too so Jon won’t be overly concerned and she leans in, her hands resting on his cheeks and she gives him a soft kiss.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers and Jon leans in, kissing her again.

 

Jon has already purchased special tickets for the exhibit and with one hand holding onto one of Sansa’s, he hands the tickets to the museum employee at the front desk with his other. They then head to the second floor and Sansa admits that her excitement grows with each step and when they step through the glass doors into the exhibit, she lets out a gasp. The room is dark except for the spotlights shining on each gown displayed behind velvet ropes. The room is silent. They seem to be the only ones in there at the moment and Sansa doesn’t hesitate in pulling Jon to the first gown.

 

She grasps Jon’s hand with both of hers and she gives him a smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to touch one without thinking and get us both kicked out.”

 

Jon smiles at that and tucks her hands into his. “Don’t want that,” he says and she smiles before looking back towards the gown in front of them. “So I need you to explain something to me. What the hell is couture?”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh that echoes through the room. “It’s a gown specifically made for the person and specifically for their body and most of it is done by hand.” She leans in as close to the gown as she can while still respecting the velvet rope. “See this?” With no use of her hands, she looks back to Jon and he leans in close, too. “This woman’s husband had died by fire. You can tell with the use of the orange, yellow and red threads and see this design? Now step back.”

 

They both do so they can look at the gown as a whole; much easier to see the flame design that starts on one side of the front of the gown and seems to engulf the rest of it.

 

“Wow,” Jon murmurs and Sansa smiles.

 

“This was the first collection that I saw that made me really want to go into fashion,” Sansa says, still studying the gown in front of them. “I’ve only ever seen them in books and I knew they were coming to Winterfell, but I… I didn’t know if I would really want to see them.”

 

They walk to the next gown in the “Widow’s Watch” fashion collection of the House Flint of the Mountains – an ancient tribe of the North, who had lived in the mountains, and who’s gowns have traveled all over Westeros, being on display and being studied. House Flint has always been a favorite subject of anthropologists to study because despite the tribe’s near isolation in the mountains for centuries, their medicines, language, weaponry and fashions had been rather advanced and it still isn’t understood how.

 

“Why not?” Jon asks.

 

“I thought it would hurt too much,” Sansa admits. “In the South, I had tried to immerse myself in everything that had to do with the South, including their clothes. But by the start of my senior year, I was missing home so much and not just home, but the _North_ and I finally admitted to myself what I knew all along, but was trying so hard to deny to myself. This is my home.”

 

Jon squeezes her hands at that and she turns her head, giving him a small smile. He returns the smile and pulling one of his hands back from hers, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and she happily goes into his side. He kisses her temple and then looks to the gown in front of them.

 

“So tell me about this one then,” he requests.

 

“How about you tell me?” Sansa suggests, only slightly teasing him. “These dresses are like stories. How do you think this widow’s husband died?”

 

Jon looks at the dress for a moment and Sansa loves him because he seems to truly be looking at it. “I have no idea,” he then says with a shake of his head.

 

“This one is a little more difficult,” Sansa agrees. “Okay. Let’s start at the top right shoulder…”

 

Nearly two hours later, they finally emerge from the exhibit and if Sansa hadn’t already been in love with him, she would now be completely head-over-heels in love with Jon Snow. How could she not be? He had just spent almost two hours, looking at gowns and listening to her talk in depth about every single one, and not a single sigh or word of complaint had passed through his lips.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” she tells him over and over again as she presses kisses all over his face.

 

Jon is grinning, almost laughing, as he happily accepts all of her kisses. “Ready for the next part of the date?”

 

Sansa knows they only have about an hour left before they have to get to the bar and open it for the night.

 

“Yes,” she says, still feeling so happy, she can’t seem to stop smiling. “I’m sorry if I took too long here-”

 

Jon kisses her then and she moans as he instantly deepens it, his tongue dipping into her mouth and making her feel like her head is spinning. She wraps her arms around him in an attempt to remain on her feet though she can’t ever imagine Jon letting her fall. And as if reading her mind, he wraps his arms tightly around her.

 

They’re both panting when their mouths separate.

 

“Let’s go,” he says, speaking lowly, staring into her eyes and finally, he seems able to step away from her, holding onto her hand as he leads them out of the museum.

 

Sansa wonders what the odds are of Jon’s part of the date is them falling into his bed. She certainly won’t protest if it is. She is more than ready to have sex – _make love_ – to this man. Her boyfriend. She wonders how she can casually ask Jon if he’s bought those condoms yet.

 

…

 

When he drives them to the batting cages, Sansa isn’t surprised in the least, she realizes. In fact, she feels pretty excited. Something for her and something for him, she recalls Jon’s earlier words. Jon and Robb together had played baseball through all four years of high school and Sansa had been to more than one of their games with the rest of the Stark family, she sitting in the aluminum stands and trying to hide her complete and utter boredom of it all.

 

But now, she’s excited because this is Jon’s part of the date and he’s going to share something he loves with her just like she did at the museum with him. She has no idea how to hit a ball or even how to really hold a bat, but she can’t imagine that is going to matter much. Maybe Jon will stand behind her and show her.

 

“Are you hungry? The best concession stand in Winterfell is at these batting cages,” he gives a grin at that and Sansa laughs happily, nodding her head.

 

After they get hot dogs – just mustard for Sansa, but relish and onions for Jon – and French fries to share between them, they take their food and sodas and sit at one of the picnic tables. Sansa can’t help, but moan when she takes her first bite of her hot dog and she lifts her eyes to see Jon watching her, smirking faintly.

 

“I haven’t had a hot dog in so long,” she admits, her cheeks only a slightly darker shade of pink. “I couldn’t eat something like this down South.”

 

“Why not?” Jon asks, genuinely curious – and slightly confused.

 

Sansa gives him a smile. “Fashion students eating _hot dogs_? The horror,” she says and adds an eye roll.

 

Jon smirks before taking a monstrous bite of his own hot dog. “Do you ever see yourself going back there?” He asks after he’s swallowed.

 

“To the South?” She asks and he nods in confirmation, sipping from his soda now, his eyes never leaving hers. Sansa doesn’t even hesitate in shaking her head. Why hesitate when she knows the answer? When she had been a little girl, she had built up the image of the South to be everything she could ever want in her life. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but learning it had been necessary. “No. There’s nothing for me there. I know now that there never was.”

 

She notices that Jon seems happy with her answer and she also notices that he tries to mask that from her.

 

“I picked a tee-shirt,” he informs her as she eats a few French fries.

 

“You did?” She asks excitedly.

 

Yes, Sansa knows that they’re just tee-shirts, but she had spent quite a bit of time, thinking of them. She had wanted to give Jon something that he could really love and not just love because she was the one to design them and he is just being polite. She knows Castle Black Bar is the most important thing in the world to Jon and though business is doing quite well, she knows how pub crawls can really help out with bars growing in both customers and revenue. Sansa wants to be able to help Jon with the bar in any way that she can.

 

Jon nods. “I really liked the wolf bit you drew, but I was thinking that with it being called Castle Black Bar, having an actual castle as a logo would be the way to go. I liked the blue and white of the wolf tee-shirt though, but it is Castle Black so a black castle would be better instead of a white one. I think I’d like a blue tee-shirt instead of a gray one though even though gray is my favorite color. What do you think?”

 

Sansa can’t help, but blink at him. “You… you’ve really been thinking about this.”

 

“Of course I have,” Jon says and he furrows his brow a little as if he doesn’t understand. “You designed them for me and… they’re _your_ designs and they’re perfect, Sansa-”

 

“I love you so much, Jon,” Sansa swiftly tells him.

 

Jon stops talking and looks at her across the table. “I love you, too.”

 

“And I really hope you bought condoms,” Sansa boldly adds and Jon chuckles softly, glancing down for a moment before looking back at her. She nearly shivers at how black his eyes suddenly look.

 

“How about we hit a few balls first?” Jon suggests as he stands up. Sansa follows his lead and after they throw their trash away, she happily takes his hand with hers.

 

She tries to remember the last time she had felt as happy as she feels right now.

 

But she can’t remember. Probably because she’s never been quite as happy as she is right now.

 

He leads them to the cage he has rented for their time there. He takes the hard plastic batting helmet and slips it onto Sansa’s head, making sure it fits her properly, Sansa looking into his face.

 

“Will you show me how to hold it?” Sansa asks as innocently as she can and then laughs when Jon groans. “The bat, Jon,” she then tells him and the look Jon gives her just makes her laugh again.

 

…


	22. Twenty-Two

…

 

“For fuck’s sake, Snow!” Daario exclaims. “I’m just asking for one night a week!”

 

Jon just shakes his head though as he wipes down the bar once everyone is gone and the doors are locked for the night. “I already gave my answer. _Several_ times.”

 

“Yeah, but that answer needs to change,” Daario grumbles and Jon just smirks.

 

As he and Daario continue cleaning up behind the bar, Jon’s eyes wander, more than once, to Sansa and Tormund as they sweep and wipe down tables. That night, Tormund has chosen an Alanis Morissette song from the jukebox to listen to during cleanup. The jukebox has the entire “Jagged Little Pill” album loaded onto it and it’s actually one of the more popular albums played. It’s an interesting choice from Tormund, who usually sticks to the Rolling Stones or the Beach Boys, but tonight, it’s Alanis and Sansa is the one who seems quite happy with the pick. She sings as she wipes tables down and Jon can’t stop staring or listening to her.

 

“I’m broke, but I’m happy.

I’m poor, but I’m kind.

I’m short, but I’m healthy, yeah.

I’m high, but I’m grounded.

I’m sane, but I’m overwhelmed.

I’m lost, but I’m hopeful, baby.

What it all comes down to,

Is that everything’s gonne be fine, fine, fine.

‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket,

And the other one is giving a high five.”

 

Gods, she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful every day and every night, of course, but fuck him, watching her clean and listening to her sing, it’s doing something to Jon’s body that he will have to wait to act upon. He wonders how obvious it would be if he pushed Daario and Tormund out the door right now.

 

“The Mrs., I think, would be in favor of karaoke,” Daario says to Jon with a grin.

 

“I have my reasons for not doing karaoke in the bar,” Jon tells him. “ _Good_ reasons and no matter what you say, you’re not going to change my mind. I already show VH1 shows. What more can the people want?”

 

“Pyp mentioned a trivia night,” Sansa speaks up, having overheard. She gives Jon a grin as she moves onto the next table to wipe that one down.

 

“Now _that’s_ a great idea, boss,” Tormund grins as well.

 

“Stop. Jesus Christ, stop,” Jon says, holding his hands up. “Castle Black is not a niche bar and if that’s the kind of place you want to work at, by all means…” he gestures towards the front door and then, with that, he leaves to go back into his office.

 

He hears Daario say something, but it’s too soft and is more like a murmur, but Jon can just imagine what it is. Probably something about how he needs to get laid or something like that. Jon’s not arguing with him.

 

He collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes and he’s not surprised in the least when a moment later, there’s a quiet knock on the open office door.

 

“Hey,” Sansa says in a soft, gentle voice.

 

“Hey,” Jon says back with his eyes still closed.

 

He doesn’t have to see her to feel her. She steps into the office and then settles down on the couch next to him; her body warm and soft and pressed against his. She smells like that coconut stuff she washes her body with and now, his entire bathroom always smells like it because since she has begun spending more nights in his flat, she’s begun taking showers there, as well, and she’s left a bottle of the stuff in the shower.

 

He loves it.

 

“Is everything alright?” She asks, still in that soft tone and Gods, Jon wonders if she has _any_ idea what that tone of voice does to him. And then, he wonders when exactly did Sansa’s voice start doing things to him?

 

“Yeah. Just…” he trails off for a moment and finally opens his eyes. He turns his head to look at her.

 

Sansa is looking at him – looking so concerned – that Jon can’t think to do anything else. He lifts a hand to the back of her head and slowly pulls her face to his. He captures her lips and he kisses her slowly; thoroughly and when he finally pulls back, he notes that it takes Sansa a moment longer to open her eyes and when she does, she looks somewhat dazed. Jon can’t help, but smile faintly.

 

“Oh,” she manages to say with pink cheeks.

 

“Yeah. Oh,” Jon says, his smile growing a bit, and Sansa smiles, too.

 

She may have been the vocal one between them about taking that next step into having sex, but that doesn’t mean that Jon hasn’t been thinking about it – every minute of every hour of every day.

 

“Alright, boss.” Daario bursts into the office with Tormund following behind at a slower pace, an unlit cigarette already on his bottom lip, resting there in preparation. Tormund goes to his locker to get his coat and Daario stands in front of the couch. “You said no karaoke _inside_ the bar,” Daario points out to Jon.

 

Jon frowns, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Fine. If we’re going to be technical about it, you can’t have karaoke on the sidewalk outside either.”

 

And he knows that that’s exactly what Daario has been thinking because the man’s mouth shuts and his brow furrows as he obviously tries to think of something else.

 

“What about the empty storefront next door?” Tormund speaks up.

 

Jon can’t help, but frown at his bouncer and Tormund just grins at him, shrugging.

 

“Yes!” Daario snaps his fingers. “The space next door. We can expand the bar into next door-”

 

“Whoa. Stop right there,” Jon rapidly shakes his head. “I’m not expanding the bar because you want karaoke. If _you_ want to rent the space next door, I obviously can’t stop you, but the bar is the perfect size as it is. And I’ve already had an idea for the space next door.”

 

“You have?” Sansa pipes in, curiously.

 

Jon refrains from closing his eyes and wincing. He hadn’t meant to say anything about the space next door – especially in front of Daario and Tormund or even really in front of Sansa; not until he’s thought of it more and could cautiously discuss it with her.

 

“Alright, we’re done here for the night. Tormund. Daario. See you both tomorrow,” Jon says in his best firm “boss” tone, standing up.

 

Tormund and Daario gather their coats, and with only minimal grumbling from Daario, they head out. When Jon hears the back door open and then close again behind them, and the quietness that falls over the bar with them gone now, Jon exhales a heavy sigh and sits back down on the couch next to Sansa.

 

“What have you been thinking for the space next door?” Sansa asks, having turned her body more towards his. “Are you thinking of expanding the bar?”

 

Jon instantly shakes his head. “No. I meant what I said. The bar is the perfect size it is. There’s no reason to expand it into next door.”

 

“Then why have you been thinking about it?” Sansa wonders and she looks so adorable right then with a slightly furrowed brow, Jon can’t help, but lean in and kiss it away.

 

He thinks about the little shop next door that’s been vacant for a couple of months now. A sweet old woman used to rent it out and sell fancy pieces of art that – even if Jon had been into art – he wouldn’t have been able to afford. She had closed up shop upon deciding it was time for retirement and she went somewhere warmer. Jon’s peeked his curious eyes through the front window a couple of times since then; more so over the past few weeks. It’s much smaller than the bar, but it has that cozy feel to it and it’s gotten his mind turning. He’s not ready to talk about it to anyone yet though; especially Sansa.

 

_“Hey, Sansa. I know that you’ve pulled a bit away from designing what with that bitch stealing your work, but what would you think if I acted like an investor of sorts and used some of my money to rent the store next door so you can have your own dress shop?”_

Jon can’t even imagine Sansa’s reaction to that if he actually spoke it out loud.

 

He then dips his lips down from her forehead and kisses her lips. “Ready to head upstairs?” He asks.

 

“Definitely,” she doesn’t hesitate in answering and it makes him smile. “Did you go shopping earlier?” She then asks him, her lips forming a smile that punches him in the stomach.

 

“I bought so many, I probably should think of buying condom stock as well,” he replies and she lets out a laugh before she pulls him in for one more kiss before they finally rise from the couch.

 

…

 

“Jon, Jon, Jon,” Sansa chants his name over and over again, her fingers tugging on his hair, her back arching. She’s breathless and beautiful and Jon is not surprised in the least to discover that Sansa Stark tastes absolutely _delicious_. Salty and sweet and Jon pushes his mouth against her even more, not able to get enough. “Jon!” She cries out as she breaks apart beneath him.

 

Her fingers tug on his hair so hard, Jon knows that it probably should hurt, but he can’t focus on anything other than Sansa’s trembling body and her taste flooding his tongue. He doesn’t stop though. How the Hell would anyone expect him to stop? He keeps going, pushing Sansa towards a second and she’s panting and gasping and saying his name on repeat. Her second orgasm hits her faster this time and her entire back nearly arches from off the bed as she screams his name this time. At least, Jon thinks Sansa screams it. He can’t be sure – what with her thighs pressed against his ears and all.

 

“Jon, no more,” Sansa begs. “Please, please.” She tugs on his hair and this time, Jon lifts his head to look up her body. “That was…” she is still panting and the English language seems to be beyond her right now.

 

Jon smiles and turning his head, he kisses the inside of her thigh.

 

“Jon,” she almost whines and he chuckles, moving up just enough so he can kiss right below her belly button.

 

Sansa stretches her arm so she can grab one of the condoms from the nightstand and Jon begins slowly making his way up, pressing kisses to her body as he comes. Before Sansa can touch him though, Jon snatches the condom from her fingers and rips it open with his teeth.

 

“I’m not prepared to completely embarrass myself in front of you,” he says and Sansa purses her lips together to keep from laughing though it’s obvious she’s laughing through her eyes.

 

He rolls the condom on and then leans down, pressing his lips to hers.

 

“I love you, Jon,” Sansa says just as he’s about to.

 

Jon sinks on top of her, his lips fusing to hers once more. “I love you, too,” he says in return, staring into her eyes. Her pale skin is flushed, her hair is a bit of a mess, and she’s never looked more beautiful to him. And the fact that this beautiful, perfect woman loves him, Jon’s pretty sure he’s never been as happy as he is in this exact moment.

 

They both moan when he pushes into her the first time and then she gasps when he settles in fully.

 

“Alright?” He asks, already feeling out of breaths as he loses himself to the way she feels around him.

 

“Oh, yes,” Sansa moans softly, her eyes closed and her head pressing back into the pillow, exposing her throat. Her hands grip his biceps, holding onto him as he begins to move above her, and Jon takes the invitation, scraping his lips down the pale, smooth skin of her throat.

 

They find a rhythm soon enough, their bodies moving in near-perfect sync, their heavy breathing mingling together and Jon kisses her everywhere he can reach as Sansa holds onto him, lifting her hips to meet his and whispering his name in his ear.

 

It’s never been like this for Jon before – not that he’s slept with that many women before Sansa. Ygritte had been his longest sexual partner, but with Ygritte, he always felt like it was a competition between them to see who was really in charge and the couple of other girls that came before Ygritte, he was younger and they were dating and figuring sex out together.

 

With Sansa though, this is how it should be. This is how he always imagined it to be between a man and woman who are in love. For this being their first time together, it’s like they have already done this a thousand times. He is completely connected to this woman and he already knows that he wants to spend the rest of his life, making love to this woman.

 

Thankfully, he’s able to stop himself before he breathes out to her, asking her to marry him. And he knows that Sansa loves him and is in love with him, but he doesn’t know if she will ever want that. And if she does – with him – he doubts she’ll ever want a proposal in the middle of sex.

 

…

 

Jon is completely exhausted. Twice more with breaks in between and he and Sansa fell into a completely deep sleep, their bodies tangled contently together.

 

Jon’s not quite sure what wakes him up. It’s not Ghost or Lady, whining to go out, and he still has plenty of time before he has to get up to open the bar. His internal alarm clock lets him know that. Still though, something is waking him and he finally is able to pry his eyes to try and find the cause.

 

Sansa is still passed out beside him and Jon’s distracted for a moment at the vision that is her. He lifts his fingers and with the lightest of touches, not wanting to wake her, he brushes some hair back from her face. Sansa keeps sleeping and Jon is so tempted to lean over and kiss her and maybe start round four, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want her to think that that’s all he wants her for.

 

He then finally hears it. His cell phone is ringing. That’s what has woken him.

 

With a tired grunt, Jon pulls himself from the bed, not even stopping to find his boxers as he goes to his phone on the dresser, wanting to get to it before he starts to wake Sansa. But as soon as he sees Robb’s name on the screen, Jon grabs the phone and a pair of sweatpants from the drawer before leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

Lady and Ghost are both still asleep and Jon sees that it’s not even eight o’clock in the morning.

 

“Hey, man,” Jon greets, turning the call onto speaker for a moment as he tugs on his sweatpants.

 

Robb may be okay with him and Sansa dating, but he knows Robb and there’s no way that Robb wants to know anything of what his best friend and sister just did in bed together and Jon will never tell him.

 

“Hey,” Robb says in return and there’s something in his tone that makes Jon completely freeze on the inside.

 

Something’s wrong.

 

“What is it?” Jon asks, cutting right to it.

 

“Is Sansa with you?”

 

“She is.”

 

“Keep her there. Don’t let her leave your flat.”

 

“What’s wrong, Robb?” Jon takes him off speaker and goes to sit on the couch.

 

“Dad and me are working on it, but there’s been a leak from the courthouse and the lawsuit and Sansa’s name are now both public,” Robb says.

 

“Shit,” is Jon’s instant response.

 

Neither party had wanted news of the lawsuit to be in the public – for obvious reasons – and Olenna Tyrell’s lawyer had already contacted Ned and they wished the matter to be settled between the lawyers and keep it out of a courtroom and away from the press. Ned and Robb haven’t even told Sansa yet. She has expressed little interest in the lawsuit and she has faith that her father and brother will take care of it; and if they need her, they know that she will help, but for the most part, she wishes to be removed completely from it.

 

“The press has her name and mom and dad’s address. A couple of cameras are out front already. Arya’s been giving them the finger though so the pictures are worthless and mom hasn’t even tried to stop her,” Robb says and Jon finds himself smiling a little at that.

 

“Do they know she works here?” Jon then asks. “Should I be prepared?”

 

He asks the question, but he doesn’t understand it himself. Be prepared? What the hell does that even mean? And how will he explain to Sansa that she needs to stay here today?

 

“I think it would be best if she just stays up in your flat today,” Robb says. “Don’t let her work tonight. I don’t know if they’ll track her down there, but you know the press.”

 

“I don’t,” Jon reminds him honestly and Robb let’s out a genuine laugh.

 

“Right. Well, the press, when they want something, they can be a bit relentless.”

 

“And now they want Sansa. Why?”

 

Robb sighs heavily. “A formerly unknown fashion student suing Olenna Tyrell for copyright infringement? Trust me. That’s more than enough reason to want her.”

 

Jon scratches the back of his head and sighs, glancing towards the bedroom door. “She’s not going to like me keeping her up here like a prisoner.”

 

“I’m sure you can find a way to distract her. Christ,” Robb groans. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

 

It’s Jon’s turn to let out a genuine laugh.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	23. Twenty-Three

…

 

“I hate this,” Sansa sighs heavily.

 

“Spending the day with me? Thank you,” Jon replies from his spot on the bed.

 

After walking Ghost and Lady – and refusing Sansa when she tried to join them – he then stopped down in his office and grabbed a few folders and now, sits on the bed, his back against the headboard as he works on his laptop. She’s told him that he can work in his office – she knows he hates working on a laptop screen when he has his large desktop screen on his desk downstairs – but Jon had acted as if he hadn’t even heard her.

 

“You know what I meant,” Sansa says. She’s lying next to him in bed and she turns on her side to face him.

 

Jon looks down to her and gives her a smile before his eyes move back to his screen. Sansa stays quiet, knowing that he’s working on his accounting books – which she knows is probably driving him crazy to do that on his laptop, but he seems to refuse to leave her today. He probably thinks that she’s going to bolt outside the instant he’s gone and he’s not necessarily wrong about that.

 

Last night had been the best night of her life. Sansa doesn’t doubt that in the least. It had been everything she could have ever imagined it to be and more. The way Jon had seen to her, it still takes Sansa’s breath away. The few times she had had sex – times she never wanted to remember, to be honest – had never been anything like it had been with Jon. She had always thought it _could_ be like that, but she had never known or experienced it for herself. To be with someone who truly cares for her and shows it in every kiss and every touch; who murmurs against her skin how beautiful she is and how much he loves her. The times their bodies had come together – and even the times they hadn’t – still nearly feels like a dream to her.

 

Sansa had woken up with a smile on her face – and then Jon had informed her what is going on.

 

When did her life get completely turned on its head like this? And then her mind begins thinking of how differently everything would be for her if she had never gone South; if she had never thought that going South was the only thing she had ever wanted. Those thoughts don’t bring her much comfort though because everything happens for a reason and if she hadn’t gone South, she wouldn’t have come back and she wouldn’t be here, with Jon, and honestly, here is the only place she wants to be.

 

She shifts her head on the pillow now and looks at him. He’s wearing pajama pants and a dark blue Henley and his hair is down. He’s the most handsome man she’s ever seen. He’s all hers and despite the mess some aspects of her life are right now, he _wants_ to be.

 

“You’ve only had one serious girlfriend, haven’t you?” Sansa asks him rather suddenly.

 

Jon stops typing and turns his head to look down to her. “Ygritte,” he answers without pause. “It’s been over for a long time now,” he says and there’s something in his tone that makes her smile.

 

“Considering how many orgasms you gave me last night, I should hope so,” Sansa teases him with a smile and Jon smirks despite the blush creeping across his cheeks. “Did you love her?”

 

Sansa isn’t too sure why she wants to know these things. Maybe it’s because that after last night, hers and Jon’s relationship is forever changed. Maybe it’s because she wants to know everything about him, but still doesn’t. If he asks her about her past relationships, she’ll tell him; not that there’s much to tell him. After last night, she feels as if the boys who came before Jon and now mere footnotes.

 

“I did,” Jon answers with a single nod. “Nothing like how I love you though.”

 

Sansa smiles. “Well, thank you, but you don’t have to swiftly convince me of that. People have big hearts so we can love more than one person.”

 

“I know. It’s just this-” he gestures between himself and her. “-is a hell of a lot stronger and better than anything I’ve ever had with anyone else. Especially Ygritte.”

 

“What was she like?” Sansa asks, now unabashedly curious while her insides flutter at his words.

 

“Dramatic,” Jon states without hesitation. “Everything was a cause for drama. She loved it. She thought that I didn’t really love her if I wasn’t fighting with her. I can’t really explain it. I just always had to be “on” with her. If I wanted to stay home, I was a bore, but if I wanted to go out, it’s because I was trying to score a woman better than her. She was exhausting.”

 

“And even with everything happening right now, I’m not exhausting?” Sansa forces herself to be brave and ask even as a tightness clenches in her stomach.

 

“Gods, no,” Jon’s answer is immediate and she admits that she needed it to be.

 

Jon quickly glances back to his screen and saving his work, he then closes the laptop and gently, he sets it down on the floor next to the bed. He lays down, rolling onto his side so he’s facing her. He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair back that’s settled on her cheek, and Sansa shifts closer to him, tucking her hands beneath her chin, looking into his eyes.

 

“All of these things that are happening, it’s complete bullshit and I’m sorry you’re going through this and I’m sorry I’m not able to help you,” Jon says.

 

“You’re helping me, Jon,” Sansa refutes.

 

“By keeping you prisoner in my flat?” He asks with a wry twist of his lips.

 

“I think it’s admirable that you would volunteer for such a task,” she teases him gently.

 

Jon leans in and kisses her. “My relationship with you is nothing like any relationship I’ve ever been in. When I’m with you, Sansa… this is everything I’ve ever imagined someday having.”

 

Sansa feels her heart subsequently stop beating as she stares at him. “It is?” She whispers; unable to ask the question any louder than that.

 

“I don’t even know when it happened, but sometime between when you started working at the bar and now… you’re everything I want, Sansa, and you’re everything I’ll ever want,” he says in a soft – yet strong – voice and his eyes penetrate hers, looking nowhere else.

 

And Sansa feels the air stop in her lungs, trapped there, making it difficult to keep breathing, but she doesn’t mind. Why does she need to breathe when she has Jon saying such things like that to her?

 

Feeling completely overwhelmed and her eyes brimming with tears, Sansa doesn’t even know what to say. But she knows what to do and she doesn’t hesitate in doing it.

 

“Jon,” she whispers his name as her head moves towards his. It’s the only word she can say right now; the only word she knows.

 

She kisses him, her hand sliding to the back of his head, tangling in his curls so he’ll come closer. And Jon does. His kisses in return are instant and in no time at all, he has her on her back and he’s above her, kissing her as if he, too, has decided that breathing isn’t all that important to him at this moment.

 

“I love you. I love you,” Sansa gasps over and over again as she takes hold of the hem of his Henley and begins pulling it upwards as Jon presses kisses to her throat and he begins pulling down her underwear.

 

…

 

“You are the best, Arya. Seriously,” Sansa says later into her cell phone as she sits on the couch, scratching Lady behind her ear as she lays with her, her head in her lap.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Arya says, pretending to be put out, but Sansa can hear that she doesn’t mean it. “Just remember this the next time annoying reporters are hounding the house for _me_.”

 

“You got it,” Sansa laughs.

 

After Sansa hangs up and leans forward to slide her phone onto the coffee table, she gives Lady one more ear rub and kisses her on the head. Lady thumps her tail against the couch cushion and Sansa smiles and gives her another kiss before gently guiding her head off her lap as she stands up. Lady quickly readjusts herself, stretching herself across the entire length of the couch and promptly going back to sleep.

 

In the kitchen, Jon stands at the stove, fixing them breakfast for their lunch, and Sansa comes up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her lips to the back of his shoulder.

 

“Arya will be here in a little bit with some of my things,” Sansa tells him.

 

“I told you that you can use my laptop,” Jon says as he carefully turns over the strips of bacon that are popping and sizzling in the frying pan. Sansa thinks he’s quite brave to not wear a shirt while frying bacon.

 

“And I told you. I’m not going to watch my porn on your professional laptop,” she says with her lips curved into a smile against his skin.

 

Jon lets out a chuckle. “Your porn, huh?”

 

“Yep. Very sexually explicit porn.”

 

“Alright. Tell me. What kind of sexually explicit porn does Sansa Stark watch?”

 

“Mainly the waitresses who fuck their bosses after hours kind,” Sansa replies casually before moving her lips from his shoulder blade, across his back and to his other shoulder blade.

 

“Did you just say fuck?” Jon asks, his voice lower now than it had previously been and Sansa shivers from it.

 

“I did,” Sansa smiles again, for some reason, feeling quite proud of herself.

 

Jon lets out some sort of growl and within seconds, he has turned off the stove, spins towards Sansa and she lets out a surprised shriek as he grabs her and lifts her up onto the counter. She dissolves into giggles when Jon steps between her knees and his hands slide onto her cheeks, but then her giggles turn into a moan when Jon kisses her hard and hungry.

 

She’s not really going to watch porn and she knows that Jon knows that, too. She’s actually seen porn only once – away at school with Margaery. For some reason, Margaery felt that _everyone_ had to see porn – at least a clip – at least once in their life and Sansa had gone along with it because she was in the South and all she had wanted to do was fit in. It had been a teacher/student fantasy clip and though it hadn’t been as raunchy as she knew other porn could be, it had made her uncomfortable all the same.

 

Sansa wonders if Jon watches porn. He’s a guy so she wouldn’t be surprised, but still, she wonders.

 

Jon’s hands slide down her cheeks, her arms, brushing down her sides – making her sigh and giggle at the same time from the slight tickling – and then they come to rest on her thighs.

 

“I love when you touch me,” Sansa feels the need to tell him.

 

“Do you?” Jon asks, leaving her lips to trail over the line of her jaw.

 

Sansa’s eyes flutter shut as his beard gently scratches her – shooting shocks right between her thighs – and she whispers his name as her fingers of one hand tangle in the curls on the back of his head while her other hand presses into the small of his back, trying to bring him as close to her as he can be despite the counter.

 

She wants to marry this man.

  
The thought comes to her suddenly and she would think that such a thought would make her gasp and pull away from him, eyes wide and heart pounding in near-fear, but instead, Jon moves his lips again to hers and one of his hands move up to cup her cheek and Sansa circles her arms around his neck, keeping him close.

 

She wants to marry this man.

 

Is it too soon for thoughts like this? Maybe. Probably. Definitely. But she can’t seem to stop or help herself.

 

“I love you,” she says then because she _has_ to say it.

 

Jon lifts his lips from hers and looks into her eyes. “I love you, too.”

 

Their kiss this time is slower, more thorough – as if they’re trying to drink one another in and get drunk. The way Sansa feels her head beginning to spin, it certainly feels like that’s exactly what Jon’s kisses are doing to her. But she only wants more. She wants to never feel sober again if it means Jon keeps kissing her like this.

 

It’s Sansa turn to begin kissing the side of Jon’s throat, moaning softly as she tastes his skin, and Jon moans in response, his fingers tangling in her hair as he nearly whimpers her name. She can vaguely hear the buzzer ring out to signal that someone is downstairs at Jon’s flat’s front door, but it can’t possibly be Arya already.

 

“Hi, Jon. It’s mom. Are you home?” A woman’s voice speaks through the speaker box.

 

“Oh my god!” Sansa is quick to exclaim as she rips her head away from Jon and looks at him with wide eyes.

 

“What?” Jon asks, confused.

 

“What?” Sansa echoes in disbelief. “Jon, your mom’s here and I’m not wearing pants!” She hisses the last part as if Jon’s mom will be able to hear her.

 

Jon just smiles though. Smiles! Sansa narrows her eyes at him, but it doesn’t change Jon’s expression.

 

“I think you look amazing, love,” is all he says before he leaves her, still sitting on the counter, and goes to buzz his mom in.

 

Sansa shrieks and sliding off the counter, she races into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She has to get dressed. She has to brush her teeth again. She has to take a shower, but there’s no time and she just hopes that Jon’s mom won’t be able to smell the scent of sex. This is not how she ever wanted to meet her boyfriend’s mom. Why would anyone want to meet their boyfriend’s mom like this?

 

She reminds herself to breathe as she changes her underwear and pulls on a fresh pair along with her pajama bottoms. Jon is still in his sweatpants and Sansa doesn’t want to make it _too_ obvious that she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s been having sex with her son.

 

Sansa hears Jon walking and then opening the door.

 

“Hi, mom,” Jon greets and then a woman’s voice follows. “Hi, sweetie.”

 

Sansa turns towards the mirror Jon has hanging on the wall above the dresser and quickly combs her hair and pulls it back into a loose braid, bringing it over her shoulder. She takes a deep breath and then another and another. It’s just Jon’s mother, she tries to tell herself, and nearly snorts. _Just_ Jon’s mother.

 

She thinks of her earlier thoughts and with her eyes closed, she tilts her head down towards the floor and shakes it. Silly thoughts. Thoughts she must _never_ speak out loud. She can’t speak them and honestly, she shouldn’t even be thinking them. She and Jon have _just_ begun and already, she’s thinking of marriage? But then she thinks of Jon and how he’s told her that she’s everything he could ever want and maybe _secretly_ thinking of marriage isn’t _that_ insane. But it’s just another reason why Jon’s mom has to like her.

 

“Sansa? Love, I need to get my shirt,” Jon says, knocking lightly on the bedroom door.

 

Sansa narrows her eyes towards him though she knows he obviously can’t see her through the wood. Maybe she’ll kill him before she, again, imagines marrying him.

 

She opens the door and Jon gives her a smile as he steps into the room and grabs his Henley from the bed. He tugs it on and then comes to Sansa, a hand going to her hip and giving it a slight squeeze.

 

“Want to meet my mom?” He asks her.

 

Sansa exhales a deep breath and nods her head. She then takes hold of his hand and he gives it a squeeze before leading her from the bedroom.

 

Through all of the years Jon and Robb have been best friends and he has practically been a part of the Stark family, Sansa has never met his mother. There was no reason for her to for while Jon was always around and close with all of the other members of her family, it just hadn’t been like that between him and Sansa. She hadn’t met his mother because she had never been in a situation where it had been absolutely necessary to.

 

Now, however, Sansa is dating this woman’s son. She’s in love with this woman’s son.

 

She has to meet this woman who put Jon Snow on this earth and do her best to _not_ hug her for that.

 

Jon’s mom is standing in the kitchen, unpacking a bag she has set down on the counter. It looks like she had gone shopping and has picked Jon up a few things, but she turns the instant she hears them come. She’s a beautiful woman with the same black hair that she has given her son; her curls a bit softer. She has gray eyes and has a slight frame – as if she’s fragile, but Sansa’s not fooled – and the instant she sees Sansa, she smiles.

 

“Mom, this is Sansa Stark. Sansa, this is my mom, Lyanna Snow,” Jon makes the introductions, smiling, but Sansa feels him still squeezing her hand and she wonders if he’s feeling a bit nervous as well.

 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Snow,” Sansa says, knowing enough to know that Jon’s mother is single and has never been married and has raised her son on her own.

 

Lyanna is still smiling at her. “Sansa,” she then says, as if sighing in relief upon finally being able to say her name. She steps forward and embraces Sansa in a hug and Jon slowly releases Sansa’s hand. Sansa is surprised for only a moment before she smiles and finds herself hugging the woman in return. “It is so nice to finally meet you, Sansa,” Lyanna softly says with a smile.

 

Before Sansa can wonder any about Lyanna’s use of “finally”, though the word certainly echoes in her mind, Jon steps in and asks his mom if she’d like to stay for breakfast.

 

…

 

Jeyne hesitates a moment, hating to interrupt him, but it’s after nine and he needs to stop working and get to bed so he’ll be able to get some sleep tonight. With a deep breath, she knocks on the partially closed door.

 

“Robb?” She pokes her head into his office.

 

Robb is hunched over the desk, his eyes staring at the computer screen, but he hears her and he lifts his head when she steps inside. His curls are a complete mess on his head and she knows that he’s probably spent these past few hours, tunneling his fingers through them.

 

“Hi, love,” Robb gives her a tired smile. “Heading to bed now?”

 

“Yes,” Jeyne says, not hesitating now as she crosses the small room to his desk. “And you’re coming with me.” She takes his hand and she glances to the screen before back to her boyfriend. “Come on. Give your eyes and mind a rest from this for a few hours.”

 

“I can’t,” he weakly protests with a shake of his head, but he turns his chair nonetheless towards her.

 

“Well, if you’re not going to bed, I’m not either,” Jeyne tells him and with that, she lowers herself into his lap.

 

Robb smiles a little. “You need your sleep, Jeyne,” he says even as he puts his arms around her.

 

“I sleep awful if you’re not next to me. You know that.” She puts her arms around his shoulders and her eyes close for a moment as he presses his lips to her jaw. “Have you figured out where the leak came from?” She asks. She knows how busy the law offices of Stark & Stark are and now, with this mess with Sansa, it has begun taking up even more of Robb’s time.

 

Not that Jeyne will ever even think of complaining about it. She’s been with Robb for so long and a practical part of the Stark family now to know how they work. If someone goes after one, the rest feel as if they have been attacked and act accordingly.

 

And this whole incident with Sansa is so terrible, how could Jeyne even think of getting mad at her boyfriend for wanting to defend his sister and hardly having time for anything else?

 

Robb sighs heavily. “Obviously, it didn’t come from anyone on our side and now that the news is out there, it’s beyond embarrassing for the Tyrells so I can’t imagine them _wanting_ to have this news known. My guess is some file clerk in the courthouse so the filings and rightfully thought there would be a story.”

 

“So what has you in here for all hours?” Jeyne then asks as her own fingers begin tunneling through his curls.

 

Robb closes his eyes and rests his head back against the chair. “The Tyrells lawyer sent over some papers this afternoon and I’ve been going over them. They sent a number to settle.”

 

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” She asks.

 

“After what they put my sister through, and what they’re _still_ putting her through, their offer is an insult. I’ll show it to Sansa, but I won’t let her accept.”

 

Jeyne thinks on that for a moment. “Isn’t that up to Sansa?”

 

“Normally, I would say that it is, but Sansa never really wanted this in the first place so I know that she’d accept just any number to get this over and done with.”

 

“And that’s not what she should do?”

 

Robb opens his eyes and looks at his girlfriend. “No, because unfortunately for Sansa, this is bigger than her now. This is about how the South views the North and how they think they can walk all over us and how they think that we’ll just take it.”

 

Jeyne doesn’t mean to. She knows that it’s not the time for it, but she finds herself smiling a little anyway.

 

“You’re making your sister the face of a war. I don’t know if she’d like that,” Jeyne says to him.

 

To put it lightly, Jeyne adds silently to herself. She feels like that can go without being actually said.

 

Robb smiles a little, too, and his cheeks look a little bit pink as if he’s blushing; embarrassed that she’s caught onto him. “I suppose I am. You don’t think I should?”

 

“I think you’re taking on a cause that is very admirable, but perhaps, using your sister – a sister who has made her thoughts on this matter quite clear to you – might not be the way to do it,” she tells him honestly because although she admits to not knowing the first thing about the law cases he works on, this isn’t the first time Robb has asked her for her opinion and he always truly listens to her when she gives an opinion.

 

It’s one of the reasons why she’s madly in love with this man. Never once has Robb ever made her feel less than his complete equal though she sometimes still – after all of this time together – worries that perhaps he will go and find a woman who understands him a bit more than a high school chemistry teacher.

 

They’ve never talked about it – in all of their years together – but Jeyne would like to get married to Robb. _Love_ is more like it. She’s never broached the subject with him though because she can’t help, but wonder if _he_ would love to get married to _her_ in return. Robb loves her. Of that, Jeyne has never doubted it. But she wonders if she’s the woman with who Robb has envisioned spending the rest of his life.

 

“So what do you think I should do?” Robb asks after a moment of thinking that over.

 

Jeyne gives his temple a kiss. “I think you should come to bed and tomorrow, show Sansa the offer and allow her to make her own decision.”

 

“As easy as that?” Robb smiles at her.

 

“Right now, it is.” Jeyne slips from his lap and standing up once again, she takes both of his hands and pulls him to his own feet. “Come on now. You’ll need all of the rest you can get before going into battle.”

 

“I thought you just said I need to find another reason,” Robb says, allowing himself to be led from his office.

 

Jeyne throws him a smile over her shoulder. “I meant before talking to your sister tomorrow.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been a fan of changing that part of Robb's story on the show and I've been wanting to show "Robb at work" - hence the Robb/Jeyne scene at the end. And "Cinderella" is one of my favorite movies so even though I know Jeyne should be a brunette, I was imagining Lily James the whole time I was writing that, to be honest. 
> 
> THANK YOU so much for reading and commenting and generally loving this story. Pub Crawl is coming!!


	24. Twenty-Four

…

 

“You ready?” Jon asks her, unable to stop from smiling as he watches her studying the notecards in her hands, wordlessly mouthing words to herself.

 

Sansa takes another moment and then with a nod, she turns and hands the card out for him to take. “Ready,” she says with a confidence that makes him smile still.

 

“Alright. One whiskey and ginger,” he orders.

 

As Sansa tries to remember the drink as she looks over the bottles in front of her, the door to the bar opens and Jon lifts his head to see who it is.

 

“I’ve got them!” Tormund’s booming voice rings across the bar.

 

“Let’s see them,” Jon says, hearing the eagerness in his tone. It’s not something he speaks with often; which is why he’s able to hear it now so clearly.

 

“I think I messed it up,” Sansa sighs from beside him.

 

“Let’s see,” Jon now says to her. “What’d you mix together?” He grabs his tasting straw and dunks it into the drink and then brings that end of the straw into his mouth.

 

He can tell exactly what she did with his small taste.

 

“Whiskey, ginger ale and simple syrup, but I don’t think that’s right,” Sansa frowns and Tormund drops the box heavily onto the bar.

 

“You mixed whiskey and ginger and a whiskey sour together,” Jon tells her.

 

Sansa sighs as if it’s the worst possible thing to ever be done in a bar and Jon smiles, slipping a hand onto the back of her neck and kissing her on the side of the head.

 

“Tormund will drink this one,” Jon says, taking the whiskey ginger sour glass and placing it in front of the man and then getting a clean glass to set down in front of Sansa.

 

“Course I will, love,” Tormund smiles at her with a wink, already picking it up, and Sansa smiles.

 

“Alright,” Jon looks to Tormund as Tormund takes a large swig from the drink. Jon drags the box closer to him and pulls the tape back. He then parts the flaps and he, Tormund and Sansa all lean in to take their first look.

 

“Look at those beauties, boss,” Tormund grins.

 

Jon finds himself grinning, too, and he takes the top shirt from the pile, unfolding it and snapping it out.

 

It’s perfect.

 

“It’s perfect,” Jon echoes his thoughts.

 

He and Sansa had gone to the tee-shirt shop to show her design and get their order processed. They had decided on a lighter blue tee-shirt so the black castle and black lettering would be more predominant. There is no pocket. The black castle is where a pocket would have been and written inside the black castle, in white lettering, is CBB.

 

Jon turns the shirt around so he can look at the back. In bold, black letters, CASTLE BLACK BAR is written across the back and Jon can’t explain it, but he will just say that there is too much dust floating in the air.

 

Castle Black Bar, _his_ bar, has a tee-shirt. _His_ bar has a logo. His bar has been open for a couple of years now, but for some reason, now, holding this tee-shirt, it feels like it’s officially open.

 

He turns his head to look at Sansa next to him, who has picked up another tee-shirt from the box, beaming as she looks it over. And it’s all because of her. He knows she will argue with that. He knows she thinks that she didn’t do anything and Jon wishes he could show her just how much she’s done. To her, it might seem like just some little black castle she’s sketched out for him, but this castle is _his_. It’s for _his_ bar and this bar is his identity. His world. And now, people will see this little castle and immediately think of this place.

 

Sansa turns to look at him, still smiling, and Jon can think to do nothing except kiss her.

 

So he does.

 

He puts a hand on the back of her head and dips his lips down to hers and he feels her smiling against his lips for a moment before she presses her lips back to his.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs to her.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” she replies – just like he knew she would. “Are you sure you like this shade of blue? I just think that with a darker blue, the black lettering and castle wouldn’t have been seen that well and I know we could have used white if we went with the darker blue, but it’s Castle _Black_ Bar and a white castle wouldn’t have made sense-”

 

Jon cuts her off with another kiss.

 

“This is the most perfect tee-shirt I’ve ever seen,” he tells her.

 

Sansa rolls her eyes despite the blush across her cheeks. “Clearly, you’ve been testing too many of my drinks. But thank you,” she adds quietly.

 

The door opens again and all three heads turn to see who it is.

 

“Hold it,” Tormund says before Arya can take another step. “I need to check your ID.”

 

“You have got to be joking,” Arya frowns.

 

“Rules are rules,” Tormund shrugs and he takes one more swig of the messed-up drink before he pushes himself away from the bar and meets Arya at the door. “You don’t want your friend’s bar to get fined just because _you_ felt you didn’t need to be carded, now do you?”

 

“I think this whole role of bar bouncer has gone to your head. Clearly drunk,” Arya grumbles.

 

“I need to talk to the boss about starting to charge you full price,” Tormund says as he plucks Arya’s ID from her fingers and looks at it far longer than he has to; inspecting it closely.

 

“Of course Jon charges me full price,” Arya snatches the ID from him with a fierce frown.

 

“He does?” Tormund seems genuinely surprised at that. “What the hell’s the matter with him?”

 

Arya grins now as she heads towards the bar. “Hey. I brought it.”

 

“Brought what?” Jon asks as he folds his tee-shirt again as carefully as he can; as if it’s made of something far more delicate than 100% cotton.

 

“It’s for Sansa,” Arya says as she reaches into her messenger bag and pulls out a magazine.

 

Sansa hands Jon her own tee-shirt for him to fold and takes the magazine, giving her sister a smile. “Thank you so much for this. I hope it wasn’t a pain.”

 

“I went after class. No big deal,” Arya shrugs and takes off her bag, sliding up onto one of the stools.

 

Jon glances over curiously – even though he tells himself that it’s none of his business unless Sansa makes it – and sees that it’s a fashion magazine – that really thick one that comes out every month and is the thickness of a school textbook. He used to see Sansa reading one issue or another of it all of the time. _Westeros_ _Chic_.

 

“You want anything to drink?” Jon asks Arya, closing the box once again and safely putting it on the floor. He’ll take it back into his office in a moment.

 

“I have a test in a couple of hours so yes,” Arya says. “The usual.”

 

Jon proceeds to pour her a pint of Guinness.

 

“I don’t understand that magazine,” Arya then says as Sansa begins turning through the pages. “The first fifty pages are just ads.”

 

“Fashion ads. That’s kind of the whole point of it,” Sansa says, sounding distracted as she answers and continues looking through the pages; clearly looking for something in particular. “Here!” She then declares after another moment. She bends the magazine back so it will stay open easier and Arya and Jon take that as their cue to both lean in for a closer look.

 

It’s an advertisement for Highgarden’s Spring Collection. Instead of Sansa’s long and flowing gowns, this model is wearing a much shorter dress of a flower pattern with sashes and ribbons and Jon doesn’t know much about fashion – nothing at all, to be honest – but the dress looks like every other dress out there. It certainly doesn’t make a mark like Sansa’s dresses do. And he’s not just being biased because Sansa’s his girlfriend and he thinks everything she does is basically outstanding. It’s because it’s the truth.

 

“Dad said that in addition to the lawsuit, he filed an injunction that basically told them to stop advertising their other Spring line or else,” Sansa says, sounding a bit distant as she studies the ad in front of her.

 

“Well,” Arya pauses to take a sip of her beer. “I know that’s not one of yours. You’ve never designed anything as cheesy. Even when you were going through your Cinderella phase.”

 

The two sisters share a smile.

 

“So is that it then?” Jon asks.

 

It seems like if this is the finish, it’s more of a whimper than the bang he had been expecting and he admits that he’s a bit disappointed. He had been hoping for something a little more than Highgarden still advertising in the top fashion magazine for their new spring line. He admits that he had been hoping that the entire company’s reputation be forever ruined and they go belly-up because of their thievery. Isn’t that how these things are supposed to work? The bad guys get theirs in the end?

 

“The other day, Robb told me that they offered a settlement number, but Robb also said he wanted to work on it a bit more before talking with me about it,” Sansa replies. “Whatever that means. It seems like Highgarden is trying to erase that they did anything. This must have cost them a fortune though. Not only to create an entirely new line, but then to also run a completely new ad campaign for it.” She’s still looking down at the ad and then lifts her eyes to look at both her sister and her boyfriend. “It _is_ kind of boring. Isn’t it?” She asks for confirmation and though Jon knows she should already know the answer, there is still a layer of fear hidden underneath the tone she’s trying to keep so casual.

 

“Ugliest dress I’ve ever seen,” Arya quips and her words are absolutely sincere. “Southern clothes are so boring. Florals for spring? Groundbreaking.”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh that sounds a bit thick to him; as if she’s about to start crying even though it’s the last thing she wants to be doing right now.

 

Jon steps in close to her and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, bringing her in tight against his side. “You’ve got more talent in your pinkie, Sansa Stark,” he whispers to her, his lips right to her ear so she’s the only one who can hear his words. “Don’t forget that they had to steal your stuff to be anywhere near you.”

 

Sansa looks at him, tears in her eyes, but smiling so happily, Jon smiles in return and she turns into him, slipping both arms around his waist and Jon keeps smiling, hugging her tightly and putting his lips to her hair.

 

“You two are so disgusting,” Arya informs them with a wrinkled nose.

 

Sansa turns her head to look at her sister, but keeps her arms around Jon’s waist and her body nestled into his, and Jon looks at Arya with a smirk.

 

“What? Are you saying that you and Gendry don’t do things like this?” He asks, only half-teasing.

 

He likes Gendry the few times that he has been able to meet the guy. He thinks of his own “meet-the-boyfriend” dinner at the Starks’ home and how it had been on the brink of disaster, but he had gotten through it and honestly, his and Sansa’s relationship has only been even stronger and better since then. Yeah, it was scary as hell going into it – no matter how well he knows and is part of the family – but it was something he knew he had to do because that’s how much his relationship with Sansa means to him.

 

If Arya imagines her relationship with Gendry going anywhere, it’s just something she has to do and it’s best to just get it over with. Ned and Catelyn Stark want to meet all of the boys and girls their children date and there’s no way around it.

 

“Whatever Gendry and me do, it’s no one’s business,” Arya says before taking another large gulp of her beer.

 

“But you admit you’re doing something?” Jon continues to prod, only half teasing.

 

Arya groans and slides from her stool, grabbing her messenger bag. “Put that on my tab. I’ll pay for it when I come back tonight.”

 

With that, she turns and heads for the door, thus swiftly ending the conversation.

 

“Thank you for the magazine, Arya!” Sansa calls after her.

 

“Get a new boyfriend, Sansa!” Arya calls back as the door swings shut behind her.

 

“I’m charging her double for her Guinness,” Jon says and Sansa lets out a laugh before pressing her face into the side of his neck and Jon closes his eyes, smiling, as he keeps hugging and holding her tight and close.

 

“I’m taking my smoke break, boss!” Tormund announces before following Arya out the door.

 

He feels Sansa sigh softly, her warm breath exhaling against his skin, and it sounds like a sigh of complete contentment. It only makes him hold her tightly and he wonders if he’s cutting off her air supply, but she doesn’t seem to think so or else, he would hope she would tell him.

 

“You okay?” Jon asks her.

 

Sansa doesn’t answer right away; truly thinking of his question and the answer she will give him.

 

“I think so,” she finally offers and then pauses to think again. “I am,” she then decides.

 

Jon smiles and with his lips still to her hairline, he closes his eyes and keeps holding her.

 

“Besides, there are more important things to think about right now,” Sansa continues. “We have a pub crawl we have to get ready for.”

 

Jon just smirks and even though she’s right – Sansa usually is – he just keeps on holding her. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

 

Sansa pulls her head back so she can look at him and she waits for him to continue.

 

Jon clears his throat, suddenly in the need of something to drink. “I know this between us has only been going on for a couple of months now, and if you think this it too fast, I need you to tell me and I won’t be hurt or angry. I promise.”

 

“Jon,” Sansa says his name then and she smiles gently. “What did you want to ask me?”

 

“Right,” he clears his throat again, wondering why the hell he feels so nervous. Either she says yes or she says no and Jon can’t imagine anything really changing between them with either answer. He’s in this with her. All in. No matter how she answers right now.

 

For a split second, he wonders if he should maybe have talked with Robb or her parents about this beforehand, but then he tells himself – reminds himself – that Sansa is an adult. She loves to remind him of that and it’s time Jon starts remembering that.

 

“Would you and Lady like to move in with me and Ghost?” Jon is proud of himself for able to get the question out without stuttering.

 

Sansa looks at him for a moment and Jon tries to read her face, but unfortunately for him, he can’t. She’s not immediately telling him ‘no’ so he thinks that that’s a check in the plus column, but she’s not instantly jumping up and down and shouting ‘yes’ so he’s not too sure what she’s thinking right now.

 

“Move in your flat?” Sansa then asks.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Live together?”

 

“Yes.” He still can’t figure out what she’s thinking. “Only if you want to,” he’s then quick to add. “I just… you’re over so much now and I love having you with me and I want you there all of the time. With me.”

 

Sansa is quiet for a passing moment and then she lifts her eyes, looking into Jon’s. “Yes,” she answers.

 

Just like that.

 

“Yes?” Jon repeats as if just wanting to make sure that he’s heard her right. A slow smile starts to spread across his face. “Yes, you’ll move in with me?”

 

She lets out a slight laugh now and she nods her head quickly. “Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

 

Jon swoops in and kisses her – hard and deep – and Sansa moans softly against his mouth, her arms sliding around his neck, kissing him just as hungry in return.

 

“I want to take you back into my office so badly right now,” Jon murmurs to her as his hands trail down her back.

 

He’s aware that there are a few customers in the bar right then – five to be exact – and he knows he shouldn’t be making out and palming his girlfriend’s ass right now – unprofessional to put it mildly – but Jon can’t help himself right now. Sansa’s moving in with him. He and Sansa are going to be living together. If there’s ever a time to be fondling his girlfriend’s ass behind the bar, it’s right now.

 

“Isn’t Daario back there?” Sansa asks, her eyes dancing with amusement.

 

“It’s my office and I have no problem kicking him out,” Jon murmurs as he moves his mouth down to the side of her neck, unable to imagine taking his lips off of her right now.

 

He thinks of the couch in the back office. It’s high time he and Sansa put that couch to some use.

 

“I thought he was actually working on something that _you_ told him to work on,” Sansa says, laughing now.

 

Jon lifts his head and looks at her, doing his best to frown. “I need you to tell me if this is how our relationship is going to be from now on. I try to do something and you insist on being logical about it.”

 

Sansa just laughs again and he leans in for another kiss.

 

“Alright! I got it done, boss!” Daario announces as he comes back out from the office, waving a piece of paper. Jon sighs as he pulls his lips back from Sansa’s and turns to look at the man, Sansa being the one to take the paper from him to read over what he’s typed.

 

“Winterfell Pub Crawl – Castle Black Bar’s _Rock of Love_ Drinking Game,” Sansa reads out loud from the top. “Take a drink if any of the following happen.”

 

Bret says something turns him on

Heather flashes her breasts

Rodeo cries or laughs

Lacey tells us she is a musician

Sam cries because Bret kisses/touches/shows attention to another girl

Someone mentions making a “connection”

We’re reminded that Heather is a stripper

One of the girls mentions how much she hates Lacey

 

Sansa is laughing by the end and she grins at Daario. “This is perfect,” she informs him.

 

“We’re only the third stop and everyone is going to be too drunk after our bar to go on to the next,” Jon comments as he takes the paper from Sansa to read it over himself.

 

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Daario comments as he begins putting the bottles away that Sansa had been working with for practicing mixing drinks.

 

“I just don’t want to get prosecuted for knowingly causing alcohol poisoning to everyone on the pub crawl,” Jon says. “But the list is really good work, Daario.”

 

Daario smiles at the compliment.

 

“We’ll have Dickon go and make extra copies when he gets here,” Jon says. “And we have to change into our tee-shirts.” 

 

The door opens and all three look to see who it is.

 

“Dad,” Sansa says when Ned Stark steps into the bar.

 

Jon’s not sure why, but as soon as he sees the man, his stomach instantly clenches. He knows that Ned has said that he and Catelyn have been meaning to come to the bar for a drink, but for some reason, actually seeing him here now, Jon is led to believe that this isn’t a social visit because even though it’s Friday, it’s still too early and it's pub crawl night and the real crowd won’t begin arriving for at least another two hours or so.

 

Jon looks to Sansa and judging by her expression, she seems to be thinking the exact same thing.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asks, hurrying out from behind the bar to meet her father halfway.

 

“Why must something be wrong?” Ned asks with a smile. “I can’t just visit my daughter at work?”

 

“Of course, but…” Sansa begins to say, but seems unsure of how to finish that.

 

“Can I get an old-fashioned, please, Daario?” Ned orders.

 

“You got it,” Daario nods and begins making the drink immediately.

 

“Jon, do you mind if Sansa and I go and speak in your office for a moment?” Ned then asks him.

 

“Of course not,” Jon says and Sansa is still looking at her dad, somehow even looking for confused than before.

 

“Can Jon come with us?” Sansa then asks, rather suddenly and unexpectedly, and Jon isn’t sure why, but he half-expects Ned to tell her that he can’t.

 

Ned pauses for just a moment, looking at Sansa and then slowly, turning his head to look at Jon.

 

Jon’s clenched stomach only tightens. This has to be about the lawsuit. It has to. Why else would Ned be here, asking to speak with Sansa in his back office? Why wouldn’t he been able to wait until tomorrow morning when Sansa is no longer here, at work? Jon can’t figure out though if Ned needing to speak with Sansa immediately is a good thing or bad thing though.

 

He also can’t figure out why _he’s_ the one feeling nervous. This lawsuit has nothing to do with him. Except… except that’s not exactly true, is it? It has everything to do with Sansa and anything that involves her, Jon wants it to involve him, too.

 

“Yes, Jon can come with us,” Ned agrees and as Daario hands Ned his mixed drink, Sansa begins heading towards the office, and as she passes Jon, she takes hold of his hand, holding tight and not letting go.

 

Jon doesn’t intend to let go of her hand either.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!


	25. Twenty-Five

…

 

Sansa sits on the couch with her father sitting beside her and Jon has sat in his wheeled chair at his desk. The office is quiet as Sansa’s brain tries to take in the number in front of her.

 

“That’s… a lot of zeros,” Sansa finally is able to say.

 

“It is,” Ned agrees. “Your brother doesn’t think you should take it.”

 

That finally gets Sansa to look away from the paper in her hands to look at her father. “He doesn’t?”

 

“He thinks it’s an insult. He wanted to try and get more out of them, but I managed to stop him.”

 

“How can this-” Sansa gestures to the number on the paper. “-be an insult?” She wonders.

 

She’s never seen this amount of money – even written down. Sansa’s aware that her family is well off; well off more than most and she has had a privileged life because of who her family is. But still, she imagines that even this number had stunned Ned when he first received it.

 

What he had said when they had first filed is true. Sansa sees that now. With this amount of money, she can do anything she wants. Absolutely _anything_. She can travel. She can go back to school. She can invest it and if done so wisely, she can easily live comfortably for the rest of her life and not work if she doesn’t want to.

 

What does she want?

 

It used to be such a simple question. When she had been asked it in the past, she had always answered with having her own fashion line and being a fashion designer. That had all she had wanted to ever do in her life. And now, she’d, very easily, be able to do it on her own without waiting for investors or buyers – if designing a fashion line is still what she wants to do.

 

“Because the Tyrells were more than well aware of what they were doing. They knew they were your designs. They knew they were stealing them from you and they went ahead and did it anyway. They also never expected to be called out for it. To them, you’re just a girl from the North who failed in the South.” Sansa looks at Ned when he says that. “I’m sorry,” he then says, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

 

“No, I…” Sansa pauses and shakes her head. “You don’t have to apologize. That _is_ how they all see me. I know that, dad. It’s just… I’m _not_ that girl.” She hears herself say that with a confidence she hasn’t felt in quite some time and she looks to her father and then to Jon and both are smiling at her and both just seem so proud of her for being able to say that and for being able to actually _believe_ it.

 

“So, Robb wants to hold out for more, to try and punish them further, but sometimes, that has a way of backfiring. The more you try and play hardball, the less you actually walk away from the table with. I think this number is good and despite the circumstances, I think this number is fair. It’s more than our initial asking price,” Ned says.

 

“It is?”

 

“One of the most premiere fashion lines in Westeros being caught stealing and plagiarizing designs? From a fashion _student_?” Ned can’t help, but smile a little at his words. “They’re absolutely mortified.”

 

And Sansa finds herself letting out an actual giggle at that before slapping her hand over her mouth.

 

“That was completely inappropriate. I’m sorry,” she says, but Ned just smiles and when she looks to Jon, she sees that he’s leaning forward in his chair, his arms on his knees, and he’s looking at her with his own smile.

 

“I see why Robb wants me to refuse, but…” Sansa looks back down to the amount of money. She then lifts her eyes and this time, instead of looking to her father, she looks to Jon. “Should I want more?” She asks him.

 

Jon is quiet, staring at her, and then slowly, he shakes his head. “That’s not my decision, Sansa.”

 

“But what is your advice?”

 

Jon pauses again and then shakes his head once more. “I don’t have any. This is out of my depth.”

 

Sansa looks back to the paper. Should she want more? She understands Robb’s point of view on the matter and he is being how he always is; being the big brother and doing anything he can to protect her from further harm and she loves him for it.

 

But there has to come a point when enough is enough and it’s time for all involved parties to move on.

 

“Sansa, you know who Melisandre Asshai is, correct?” Ned breaks into her thoughts.

 

“Of course I do,” Sansa gives her father an amused smile, a little amused that _he_ knows who she is. She then looks to Jon. “She’s the lead editor for _Westeros Chic_ ,” she explains to him because there’s no reason – or possible way – that Jon knows.

 

“Ah. Of course,” he gives her a nod and knowing smile and Sansa smiles, almost giggling, in return.

 

“Well, her office has contacted my office,” Ned continues and Sansa’s eyes whip over to look at him.

 

“What?” She’s finally able to ask after a stunned moment.

 

This woman, Melisandre Asshai, is _everything_ in the fashion world. What she says definitely goes when it comes to what’s in and what’s out; which designer is hot and which designer is not. Why on earth would this woman ever want to involve herself with _her_?

 

Ned smiles as if he can read her mind. “She would like to sit down with you.”

 

“With me?” Sansa echoes, staring at her father. She understands each individual word he is saying and yet, she is not understanding them in the sentence he is stringing together.

 

“With you,” Ned confirms.

 

“But why?” Sansa blurts out, but she feels it is a very valid question. She pictures the beautiful woman with the darkest red of hair, sitting in the front row of all of the biggest fashion shows every year, always wearing black sunglasses so reading her face is impossible.

 

Not that long ago, Sansa dreamt of _being_ Melisandre Asshai.

 

“Her office didn’t say much. Just that Melisandre Asshai and others at the magazine loved the dresses. When they first thought they were Olenna’s designs, and still when they found out they are actually yours. They said that Melisandre, personally, would like to talk with you about your dresses and run something in the magazine. An article and maybe even a small photo spread. They said they’d have more details if you called.”

 

Sansa had been stunned and then shocked when Ned had showed her the amount of money the Tyrells were offering to settle with, but her head hadn’t been spinning. Now though, at just the _idea_ of Melisandre Asshai wanting to sit down and talk with _her_ , she feels drunk. Her head, the room, everything is spinning around her.

 

She, Sansa Stark, fashion-school dropout, featured in _Westeros Chic_ after talking to Melisandre Asshai? This is better than any amount of money.

 

She is beaming at Ned and Ned is smiling at her in return before leaning in and giving her a kiss on the side of her head. Sansa then looks to Jon. He’s not smiling. Actually, she can’t really tell what his facial expression is. It’s almost… blank. He’s staring down at the floor, clearly thinking of something, but what, she doesn’t know.

 

Sansa’s own smile begins to fade as she watches him. Something’s wrong, but what it could be, she doesn’t know and she doesn’t want to ask him while her father is sitting with them.

 

She knows Jon so well by this point, but she’s still learning, and she can’t read his face or his thoughts right now, no matter how badly she wishes she could.

 

And then, able to feel her eyes on him, Jon lifts his head and looking at her, he tries to give her a smile.

 

He fails miserably.

 

…

 

Beth is here. It doesn’t matter that there’s a crowd of thirty pub crawlers. Daario knows that she’s here. There’s always this sense he gets whenever Beth’s near. He never paid attention to it before – probably just chalking it up to indigestion – but since he’s no longer had her, the feeling in the pit of his stomach can no longer be denied or tried to pass off as anything other than being a reaction to Beth’s presence.

 

It only takes him a few moments to sift through the crowd before he can spot her. And she’s not alone. No. She’s with Pyp.

 

 _Of course_ , Daario thinks bitterly to himself before able to stop.

 

He can’t do that. He knows it. He’s been working on not doing that, reminding himself that Beth doesn’t deserve that. She hasn’t done anything wrong. The best thing she’s ever done for herself is dump his ass and leave it behind. Though, could he really be dumped if they were never officially together in the first place?

 

He hates himself for having never been officially together with her.

 

For Castle Black Bar being only the third stop on Winterfell’s Annual Pub Crawl, the large crowd of people is already on this side of tipsy, some already way past the point of being drunk. It’s fun though. Daario likes when it’s busy like this. It helps the time fly by and a busy bar is a fun bar – especially when they have a _Rock of Love_ drinking game going on, the episode playing on the televisions and everyone talking and laughing and taking their shots when something particular happens on the screen.

 

Dickon is helping them that night. Jon had known they would need an extra pair of hands and the kid was more than happy to come and help out. If he’s not helping Jon and Daario behind the bar, he’s helping Sansa deliver drinks or clean off tables.

 

Beth is at her usual table next to the jukebox with Pyp and a few people Daario doesn’t know is with them. He figures they work at the bank with the both of them. Daario is trying not to stare. He’s _really_ trying, but he can’t seem to help himself. Whenever Beth’s nearby, he can’t seem to help himself. Not anymore. And how much of an asshole does that make him? He had her for months. He had her being in love with him and he had barely seen her then. But now? Now, whenever she’s in the room, she’s all he sees.

 

And now, Beth is the one blind to him.

 

Pyp is sitting on a stool at the table and Beth is standing up, standing between Pyp’s spread knees, leaning into him. His pint is on the table so he can have both of his arms around her waist, holding her, and his lips are right to her ear, saying something that is making her glow with laughter and he’s smiling as he looks at her; smiling just because she’s laughing.

 

He loves her. Daario can tell. Even from behind the bar, Daario can tell. And when Beth lifts her head from where she had dipped it down to Pyp’s shoulder and Daario can see the way Beth looking at Pyp, he knows that Pyp isn’t the only one in love.

 

Daario turns away from the scene. Gods, that hurts. That really hurts even with him reminding himself that it shouldn’t. It’s all his fault and he has no one to blame, but himself and he is _such_ an asshole for even thinking about getting angry at Beth and Pyp. Beth wanted him and he had been too stupid and blind to want her, too, and now, she’s with a man who wants her and sees her and _loves_ her and Daario knows he should be nothing, but happy for Beth.

 

It doesn’t stop him from sighing heavily though as he mixes more drinks for more people.

 

“Hey,” Sansa smiles, coming to stand in front of him on the other side of the bar. “Everyone is loving the game,” she tells him and he doesn’t know how Sansa does it, but she always seems to know when he’s pissed off and moments away from snapping.

 

Daario takes a quick look around the bar. For the moment, he allows himself to forget about Beth and Pyp. The episode is almost finished, everyone is still watching and still drinking and Sansa’s not lying. It seems like the game is a big hit.

 

“As long as Jon’s happy,” Daario says with a little smile.

 

Ever since his suspension and coming back to work, keeping the boss happy is one of his top priorities – except when he’s talking about karaoke. He just can’t let that go.

 

…

 

“Boss, she’s back,” Tormund whispers to Jon though whispering in this kind of noise level is just about yelling right into Jon’s ear so he can hear.

 

Jon lifts his head from the two Long-Island Iced Teas he’s making so he can look at Tormund. Tormund dips his head forward and Jon turns his head, following his line of sight. He spots the petite blonde from a couple of weeks earlier – when she had been in here with that asshole boyfriend of hers and Tormund had had to chuck him out. She’s standing with a couple of her friends, standing in a tight circle as they drink cocktails and laugh over something.

 

Jon looks at her and then turns his head to look back at Tormund, smirking a little. His over six-foot tall doorman with red hair and a bushy mountain beard to match currently has hearts in his eyes like a cartoon character as he stares at the much-more petite blonde.

 

“One more pitcher of Scottish Stout, Jon,” Sansa says, handing him the order slip. “That table is determined to finish it before they head off to the next pub.”

 

Sansa notices that the smile Jon gives her is much more relaxed than that failed attempt at a smile in his office earlier. She still isn’t sure what he had been thinking when she and her father had talked about Melisandre Asshai and right now, during their busy hour of the pub crawl is not the time for her to ask him.

 

She wishes she didn’t have to ask though. She wishes she could just look at him and know what’s wrong.

 

Hopefully, someday, she’ll get to that point with him. She _wants_ to be with Jon for so long that it will be pretty hard for him to keep something from her. She wants to be able to read him and know him better than she knows anyone and she wants him to have the same with her.

 

Living together will give her plenty of practice.

 

Living together. She and Jon are going to be living together. Upstairs, his flat will be her flat, too, and with their two dogs, it will be home. She is going to have a home with Jon Snow – her boyfriend who she loves.

 

“What are you smiling about?” Jon wonders, breaking through her thoughts and smiling, too, at the sight of hers and passes her the pitcher of beer.

 

“You,” Sansa answers truthfully and simply and his smile seems to only grow warmer.

 

She wants to kiss him right now, but it is hardly the best time. Instead, she settles for just smiling and feeling the fluttering in her stomach that his smile always gives her.

 

Tormund suddenly slams his hand on the bar. “I’m going. Wish me luck.”

 

“Good luck,” Sansa immediately states though she has no idea what he’s talking about. She looks back to Jon. “I’m going to deliver this pitcher and then I’m going to go get my phone from the office so I can take a few pictures for the bar’s website.”

 

Jon frowns a little at that. “The bar doesn’t have a website,” he points out to her.

 

“Yes, I know. That’s something else we need to talk about,” Sansa informs him with a sweet smile and Jon juts smirks at her before he’s pulled away to another customer.

 

Sansa is quick to deliver the pitcher to the correct table and on her way through the crowd, she makes sure that everyone is good for the time being. Arya, Robb and Jeyne are all there for the crawl as if Beth and Pyp and Sansa wants to make sure that she gets plenty of good pictures of everyone there that night. This is a big night for the bar. It’s amazing promotion and it certainly helps that everyone there that night seems to be having a good time with their drinking game. She has heard more than one person say already that they want to come back for the next VH1 reality show night and Arya has all, but demanded that she get a Castle Black Bar tee-shirt, too, as soon as she saw Sansa, Jon, Dickon, Daario and Tormund all wearing theirs.

 

That’s something else she needs to talk about with Jon. Not only the website, but it might be a good idea to make up more tee-shirts to sell them. Sansa can’t help, but feel proud of herself for the tee-shirt. It’s simple – ridiculously simple – and yet it is _her_ ridiculously simply design that people love; that _Jon_ loves.

 

She knows that Jon would love anything she designed simply because she is the one who designed it, but after everything he has done for her since she’s come home to the North, able to do something for him and this bar that he loves so much is more important to her than anything.

 

In the office, she has left her phone on top of Jon’s desk. “Shit,” she curses quietly when she sees that she barely has any battery left and she didn’t think to bring her charger with her.

 

When she moves into the flat upstairs, she’ll always have her charger near and that simple thought makes her break into a wide smile.

 

For the time being though she’s just going to have to borrow Jon’s. She’ll charge it just long enough to give her a bit more juice for a few pictures. She doesn’t have that much time. The crawl will be moving onto the next pub shortly.

 

Not feeling that comfortable with snooping around Jon’s office, but having no choice in the matter at the moment, Sansa opened the first drawer on his desk. He’s insanely organized – his office supplies all in its proper place. But no phone charger. The bottom drawer has nothing, but files in it, she knows, but she crouches down and opens that drawer as well anyway.

 

Just as she expected. Hanging files with each folder clearly marked as to its content. She moves them back so she can just make sure there’s no phone charger at the bottom of the drawer. She freezes though when she sees what _is_ on the bottom of the drawer. It’s not a phone charger, but it’s…

 

Sansa reaches out and picks it up before she can tell herself not to and her hand is shaking slightly as she takes the ring box in her hand.

 

A ring box. Why does Jon have a ring box in the bottom of his desk drawer?

 

It can’t possibly be…

 

Sansa tells herself not to, but clearly, she’s not listening to herself at the moment as she gently pulls open the top of the box and gasps as she lays eyes on the diamond engagement ring nestled inside.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Just a few more chapters left in this one and I also am working on the next chapter of _Oh! Darling_.


	26. Twenty-Six

…

 

“Thank you for this,” Robb says as he follows Jon into his office.

 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jon tells him as he goes to his desk and opens the bottom drawer. He takes the ring box and hands it to Robb, giving him a small smile. “You still doing it tonight?”

 

Robb had initially planned on asking Jeyne during the pub crawl earlier that evening, but then decided he didn’t want to ask his girlfriend to marry him in front of so many people and not in a pub – no matter how much both love Castle Black Bar. He had asked Jon if he could keep the ring in his office for the rest of the night once he decided against proposing there and Jon had told him to keep it in his desk.

 

“I am,” Robb says and then takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself as he has been doing all night.

 

Jon tries not to smile at his best friend. It’s obvious that Robb is bubbling with nerves. “I’m happy for you,” he tells him. “And for Jeyne. _Especially_ for Jeyne. You should marry her after she’s been putting up with you since we were all teenagers,” he jests and Robb smirks a little, lowering himself on the couch behind him.

 

He leans forward and with his elbows on his knees, he looks at the ring box between his hands. “You know Jeyne loves taking those magazine quizzes,” Robb says and Jon nods.

 

More than one lunch period back in high school had been spent with Jeyne giving Jon quizzes about if he was a romantic or not (he was and still is) or what he looked for in a partner (an equal with just a hint of wanting to take care of her) or if he put his career (they had replaced that with school) ahead of relationships (and at the time, considering he hadn’t been in a relationship, yes, he did).

 

“Well, I was in the bathroom and decided to read one of her magazines that she had in there to pass the time,” Robb said. “And I saw one of the quizzes she had taken. Where do you see your life going? Or something ridiculous like that. Anyway, one of the questions was about marriage. Do you see yourself married in five years? Two years? One year? Already married or I don’t know? She had circled I don’t know.”

 

Jon is quiet, leaning against his desk behind him as Robb talks and he listens. Jon admits that he had been taken aback when Robb had come to him and had showed him the ring and said that he was going to propose to Jeyne very soon. They had been together for so long now, most can’t understand why they aren’t married already or at least engaged.

 

Obviously, something had happened, Jon knows, for Robb to propose now. He just never would have guessed it would be one of Jeyne’s magazine quizzes that would finally be that something.

 

“Jeyne’s been with me through everything. Law school and all of the study nights and now all of the case work I sometimes get bogged down with… I love her and she deserves better than an ‘I don’t know’.”

 

Jon smiles a little. “I’m really happy for you, Robb,” he says again.

 

“And if she says yes-”

 

Jon can’t imagine Jeyne ever saying ‘no’ when Robb proposes, but he keeps quiet.

 

“-you’ll be my best man?” Robb asks.

 

“Of course I will,” Jon answers without hesitating. Why hesitate? There’s no other answer to give.

 

Robb gives him a smile and then takes another deep breath.

 

“I asked Sansa to move in with me,” Jon hears himself blurt out and Robb lifts his eyes to look at him. “Earlier today, I asked her and she said yes. I… I am so in love with her, Robb.”

 

The office is quite for a few passing moments after Jon has said those words. They can hear Sansa, Daario and Tormund out in the main part of the pub, cleaning up from the night, but in the office, neither saw a word. Jon is bracing himself to be punched, to be honest. Yes, Robb knows that his best mate is dating his younger sister and doesn’t seem to have that big of an issue with it, but Sansa living with him is something different.

 

It’s something _more_ and Jon knows that it’s only going to continue being so.

 

For as long as Sansa wants it, their relationship will keep being something and being more. He doesn’t know how long he has though. She’s already moving onto bigger and better and she doesn’t even know it yet. He saw the way her entire face had lit up when Ned had mentioned that Melisandre Asshai woman. Jon has no idea who that woman is, but he doesn’t have to know. All he needs to know is that the woman is in charge of _Westeros Chic_ and Sansa had nearly gasped when Ned had said the woman’s name.

 

He knows that she has already said that there’s nothing for her in the South, but that was said before this Melisandre Asshai woman expressed an interest in talking with Sansa.

 

Sansa is going to be gone before he knows it, but Jon’s going to try and not count down the days. She’s still here, for the time being, and Jon is just going to focus on that and cherish all of his time he has left with her.

 

Robb smirks a little. “That’s a bit obvious. If only you knew how often Arya and I are ribbing you for it.”

 

“For being in love with Sansa?” Jon begins to frown at that.

 

“No, for being such a sodden fool,” Robb says, his smile growing. “You’re lucky to have Sansa-”

 

“I know I am,” Jon cuts in.

 

“-and I never did give you the big brother talk.”

 

“You didn’t,” Jon shakes his head, smiling a little now himself.

 

Robb stands up from the couch. “I didn’t think I had to though. You’re my best friend and you’ve also known Sansa since we were all kids. I also didn’t think I had to give you any kind of talk about treating her right because I’ve seen how happy Sansa is since the two of you have gotten together. When she first came back from the South… but then she started working here, and the two of you started seeing one another and everyone in the family is able to see it. She’s happy. In fact, mum was just saying the other day that she can’t remember _ever_ seeing Sansa as happy as she is right now.”

 

Jon does his best to not puff his chest out from hearing that.

 

“I want to make her happy,” Jon then says quietly as if he’s confessing something grand and secretive. “That’s all I want to do. You mean it? About her being happy?”

 

Jon then looks to Robb with uncertainty in his eyes and Robb smiles that smile of his that takes over his entire face and crinkles the corners of his eyes.

 

He claps a hand onto Jon’s shoulder. “Dolt,” he then says with warm affection and Jon lets out a small laugh.

 

For a moment, he’s tempted to confide in Robb about the meeting earlier with Sansa and Ned; about all of the money and an interview with Melisandre Asshai and _Westeros Chic_. Jon doesn’t though; having no idea what Robb would say about it. If going back down South is in Sansa’s best interest, Jon can’t imagine anyone in her family talking her out of it and Jon certainly isn’t going to be one who tries to.

 

“If you _do_ hurt her though, I’m going to sick Arya on you,” Robb says, still smiling, but absolutely serious.

 

“That’s all you’ll ever have to say,” Jon smiles and both he and Robb share a chuckle. “Let me know how it goes tonight.”

 

“I will,” Robb promises. “Hopefully, it will be good news.”

 

“If she didn’t dump you when you were sixteen and going through your nothing, but Flo Rida phase-”

 

“Flo Rida is one of the greatest musical artists of all time,” Robb jumps in.

 

“Get out of my bar.”

 

Out in the bar, Sansa is putting chairs up on the table as Tormund sweeps the broom across the floor.

 

“Good night, everyone!” Robb calls out.

 

“Good night!” Everyone calls back and Jon follows him to the front door, locking it behind him.

 

“Hey, Jon,” Dickon comes up to him. “Do you need anything else from me? I have an early class-”

 

“Go on,” Jon cuts him off. “Stop by sometime in the next couple of days and I’ll have your tips from tonight.”

 

“Thank you,” Dickon smiles.

 

“Thank you for everything tonight. You did great,” Jon says and shakes his hand.

 

Dickon heads into the back office to get his jacket and then says good night to everyone before leaving, Jon, once again, locking the door.

 

“Here, boss,” Daario says, holding the cash drawers from the registers in his arms.

 

Jon takes both drawers and heads back into his office. He’ll count both drawers tomorrow to balance the books before taking the deposit to the bank. For now, he crouches down and puts both drawers safely inside of the safe, locked up tight, for the night.

 

When he comes back out and joins Daario behind the bar to finish cleaning up back there, Tormund has just stepped away from the jukebox and _Second Hand News_ by Fleetwood Mac begins playing.

 

“So should I do that, too?” Tormund asks Sansa.

 

Sansa smiles and shakes her head. “Taking me to the history museum to look at a fashion collection is perfect for _me_ and Jon knew that. That’s why our first date was perfect. Something for me and then the batting cages for him. You have to do something that’s perfect for Myrcella.”

 

Jon smiles as he hears her describe their first date as perfect.

 

“I don’t _know_ what’s perfect for her though. I don’t know anything about her. Hence, the date,” Tormund says. “She’s in grad school, studying philosophy. Or psychology. It was too loud and I couldn’t hear her clearly. It might have even been art history.”

 

“Take her to the art museum,” Sansa suggests. “She seems like she’d like that no matter what her major is.”

 

“So you’re going out?” Jon catches up with the conversation.

 

“Tomorrow afternoon. She has an eleven o’clock and then nothing. I told her I don’t have to be here until six so that gives us five hours,” Tormund says and Jon can’t help, but look at his doorman and smile.

 

For such a large, usually formidable man, Tormund looks as if he’s blushing just at the thought of that petite woman who has seemed to have him wrapped around her finger already.

 

“What do you think, Daario?” Tormund asks. “What’s a good first date thing to do?”

 

Daario shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. I don’t take girls out on dates. I’d listen to Sansa more than anyone.”

 

“Did you really think our first date was perfect?” Jon asks as Sansa drops the last glasses off at the bar.

 

Sansa just smiles at him and doesn’t say anything as she turns to finish wiping the last table down. Jon smiles to himself as he and Daario finish up and then hands Daario the tip jars that seem to be overflowing. As Daario goes to the table that Tormund has left the chairs down from, Jon gets bottles of Heineken for the four of them and Tormund disappears into the office for a moment. Jon sets out the four bottles and finishing wiping down, Sansa joins them. She gives Jon a smile as she sits down in the chair next to his and Jon smiles in return, leaning back in his chair, taking a sip of his beer and his other hand instantly sliding onto her thigh.

 

“I heard so many people say that they want to come back next Tuesday for VH1 night,” Sansa tells him.

 

“I heard that, too,” Daario says with a nod, beginning to count out the tips in four piles. Sansa’s tips are still gathered in the front pouch of her apron she hasn’t taken off yet. “Tuesdays might not be our slow night anymore, boss.”

 

Jon just smiles.

 

He doesn’t know how Jeor felt about pub crawls, but even if he had hated him, Jon thinks that the man would understand what a smart and lucrative business move it had been, signing up to be involved.

 

“I bought these this afternoon, thinking we’d all want them at the end of the night, either to celebrate or to eat our feelings over a disaster,” Tormund says, stepping back into the bar and coming to the table. He drops a bag of mini Snickers down and then sits in the last chair.

 

Sansa claps with giddiness. “Tormund, you’re the best person in this room right now,” she decides and with that, she brings the bag closer to her so she can open it and be the first to help herself.

 

Jon just smiles and takes another sip of his beer.

 

“What about food?” Tormund asks Sansa, getting back to talk of his date with Myrcella tomorrow.

 

Jon sits and listens as he drinks her beer; as Daario counts out the tip jar; as Sansa eats a Snickers and tells Tormund about the café that’s inside the art museum that has the best cream of celery soup; as Tormund listens to every single word she says with the utmost attention.

 

His hand is still on Sansa’s thigh underneath the table and after she eats three mini Snickers, Sansa takes her beer and leans back in her chair, her other hand sliding and resting on top of his, still taking with Tormund. Jon smiles faintly as he feels Sansa grasp his hand and he grasps it in return.

 

He’s going to keep grasping Sansa’s hand for as long as she lets him.

 

…

 

“Do you really want me to move in with you?” Sansa asks quietly just an hour later, both changed and lying in his bed. He had thought they would have sex when they came upstairs, but instead, the adrenaline from the night has fled them both and they are both too exhausted for anything after getting in their pajamas, brushing their teeth and getting beneath the covers.

 

Jon’s eyes had been closed, nearing drifting off, but at Sansa’s question, his eyes snap open again.

 

He rolls onto his side towards her and it takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and to see her. “Of course, I do. I can’t think of anything I want more. Don’t you want to anymore?” He asks as his stomach already begins to fist at her possible answer.

 

“I do,” Sansa answers without pause and he’s glad for it because if she had hesitated, he wouldn’t have believed her or her words. “I just… Jon, I love you,” she tells him and she moves closer to him, her hand finding his cheek and resting there.

 

“I love you, too,” he says and if he wants to stop and think about it, he knows that he’d be amazed at just how natural that comes to him now; like someone saying “Thank you” and replying with “you’re welcome.” It’s natural. A reflex. Sansa says she loves him and he says that he loves her, too.

 

There’s nothing to think about; not when it comes to that.

 

“I just don’t want to move in and a month from now, you decide we’ve moved too quickly,” Sansa says.

 

Jon frowns and he hopes that she can see it in the dark.

 

“Why would I think we’ve moved too quickly?” He asks.

 

“I’ve only been back a few months-”

 

“Sansa, if _you_ think we’re moving too quickly, you need to tell me,” Jon says and the fist around his stomach, slowly squeezing it tighter and tighter, makes another appearance.

 

She is so quiet then and Jon warns himself to not jump to conclusions. He needs to wait, he tells himself. He needs to wait and let her say whatever is on her mind; no matter how long that might take. He needs to just wait and do his best to ignore the tightness in his stomach that he’s beginning to confuse for nausea. If he runs to the bathroom to throw up, that will certainly derail this conversation and he doesn’t want anything distracting Sansa from what she is clearly thinking about right now.

 

He assumes that this is when she’ll tell him. She’s going to head back South; maybe go back to school and finish up her degree since she just has one more year. She’s going to have that interview with Melisandre Asshai and that photospread in _Westeros Chic_ and her time at Castle Black Bar and with _him_ will soon be just a memory. Someone will ask how she spent her time when she went home and maybe she will smile fondly at the memories of him before moving the conversation onto something else.

 

There’s no way Sansa will stay in the North – not after the money and exposure she’s on the brink of getting.

 

Sansa Stark is so much bigger than the North.

 

“I love you so much, Jon, but I’m not ready to get married,” Sansa says.

 

Jon blinks at her. He honestly hasn’t been expecting those words to leave her mouth.

 

“Okay. Me neither,” he replies.

 

“You’re… you’re not?”

 

“I mean, yes, someday, I would like to get married, but right now, I just loving getting to know you better and better with each day and spending all of my time with you.”

 

“But,” Sansa sputters. “The ring! In your desk! You have a ring in your desk, Jon!”

 

Jon moves even closer to her and his hand finds her cheek as well. With her hand still on his cheek, she will be able to feel his smile and the thought just makes him smile more.

 

“There was a ring in my desk,” Jon agrees. “Rob asked me to hold it onto for him before he could give it to Jeyne,” he explains.

 

“Robb’s proposing?” Sansa nearly whispers.

 

“Finally, right?” Jon asks, still smiling.

 

Sansa lets out a laugh. “Finally,” she agrees. “So, that ring… you’re not proposing?”

 

“Not yet,” Jon shakes his head.

 

“Yet?” She echoes.

 

Jon wonders if he shouldn’t have said that, but to be honest, just because he’s not ready to propose to her and get married to her, that doesn’t mean that he will never be ready. In truth, if he does get married one day – and he does want to get married one day – he can’t imagine his wife being anyone other than Sansa.

 

But right now, he just is excited and more than ready to live with her.

 

For as long as she wants to live with him.

 

“Yet,” he confirms and then leans in and gives her a short, soft kiss. “Are you sorry that I don’t have a ring?” He then asks, having to know; having to know what page Sansa is on and if they’re on the same one.

 

“No,” she answers. “We’re not there yet.”

 

“Yet?” It’s his turn to echo and he’s teasing and Sansa knows it as she lets out another laugh.

 

“Yet,” she repeats. “I’ll move in and we’ll live together. Castle Black Bar will grow to be the most popular bar in all of Winterfell. I’ll do an interview with _Westeros Chic_. And you and me will live happily ever after. How does that sound?”

 

With his hand on her cheek, he can feel Sansa smiling.

 

And Jon wants to smile, too, but there’s something about what Sansa has just said that stops him from doing so. Jon knows he’s being nit-picky, but he can’t seem to help himself and he can’t get himself away from over thinking and focusing too much on her words.

 

_You and me will live happily ever after_.

 

Jon has noticed immediately that Sansa hadn’t said _together_.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!


	27. Twenty-Seven

…

 

“I can’t believe a young man Jon’s age has a complete set of actual dishware,” Catelyn says, almost in awe, as she looks at the cabinets, having opened the doors to put away some of Sansa’s juice glasses.

 

“I insisted,” Lyanna says with a smile. “I told him that he wasn’t going to live off of paper plates and plastic cups. Just because he runs a bar downstairs doesn’t mean that he has to live in one upstairs, too.”

 

Sansa worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks at the four juice glasses her mother is putting away from the box on the counter into the cabinet. They are just juice glasses and she loves them – the four delicate glasses having a sparrow bird on each one – but do they really need juice glasses? Her mom is right. Jon has plenty of glasses for the two of them and Sansa doesn’t want to crowd their cabinets.

 

This morning, as her parents help her move her things into Jon’s flat and they are helping with finding places for all of her things, Sansa has spent most of this time with a nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She has a lot of clothes. A lot. Even though since coming home, she’s just worn a dress a few times now, and she’s usually in jeans and a sweater, she still has quite a bit more clothing than Jon.

 

She hadn’t brought any more furniture with her except her dresser with the mirror that hangs over it and her full-length mirror that she used to have standing in the corner of her bedroom. Jon has said that he has plenty of room in his bedroom – _their_ bedroom now – and Sansa supposes that that’s the truth. He has just his bed, a tall chest of drawers and two nightstand tables, one on either side of the bed. Jon had told Sansa, more like _assured_ her, that this flat is her flat now, too, and he wants her to bring anything.

 

“I want this to be your home,” he had told her.

 

Of course, those words were said before she and her parents showed up with boxes and furniture and now, Sansa is in the kitchen with her mom and Jon’s, and she can hear Jon and Ned in the bedroom, rearranging the furniture and trying to think of the best fit for everything.

 

He’s going to regret asking her to move in, she knows he will.

 

“Excuse me for a moment,” she says to both Catelyn and Lyanna before leaving the kitchen, heading towards the bedroom.

 

Jon notices her immediately, standing in the doorway, and he gives her an easy smile. For the work that morning of moving her in, he has pulled his hair back into its man-bun to prevent the curls hanging in his face. He’s also wearing his tight jeans and a black tee-shirt and Sansa makes sure she doesn’t lick her lips as he looks at her; not with her father standing in the room as well.

 

“Hey. I’m glad you’re here,” Jon says, still smiling, and he comes to her to take one of her hands and gently pull her into the bedroom. Jon and Ned have moved the furniture away from the walls and are clearly still figuring out the best place for everything. “Since I don’t want to put one of our dressers in front of the windows, what would you think about putting our bed here?”

 

Sansa feels her heart lift high at the easy way he says _our_ bed and she smiles, losing herself for a moment as she can do nothing except look at him. The other night, when they were talking about rings and marriage, they seem to be on the same page. Not yet. _Yet_. But it will happen, Sansa knows in that moment. She’s always been a romantic. She’s always been in love with love and she’s always wanted to get married.

 

But for the first time in her life, she can actually picture who her husband will be and he’s right in front of her.

 

She remembers that her dad is in the bedroom with them and from the corner of her eye, Sansa can see Ned watching them with a smile on his face.

 

“What about the sun in the mornings?” Sansa asks and looks to the spot where Jon is suggesting. “These face east and the sun will stream right on us. It’ll kill us in the mornings after working all night.”

 

Jon just smiles at that. “Blackout curtains?” He suggests.

 

Sansa smiles, too. “Then yes. I like the bed there. And my dresser on this wall?” She then turns to the wall where the bed previously has been.

 

“Sounds good to me,” Jon says and he is still smiling and Sansa notes that he really hasn’t stopped smiling since she and her parents arrived earlier that morning. “How’s the rest of the unpacking going?” He asks.

 

“Um,” Sansa admits that she wishes she didn’t have to answer. “It’s going okay,” she decides on.

 

Jon’s own smile slips a little. “Just okay?”

 

“I…” she wets her lips with her tongue and then sighs heavily. “You already have everything we need in the kitchen and I’m just _adding_ and causing clutter-”

 

Even with Ned Stark in the room, Jon leans in and cuts off her words with a kiss. “We’ll throw my stuff out if you want. I’m sure yours is nicer than mine anyway.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Jon,” Sansa says with a roll of her eyes, biting back a smile.

 

Jon’s back to smiling now, too. “Well, stop saying stupid things. None of this stuff is clutter. It’s _ours_.”

 

Sansa closes her eyes for a moment at his words and she takes a deep breath, calming herself again. She opens her eyes again as she’s nodding her head and Jon remains smiling, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

 

“Alright?” He whispers then.

 

“Alright,” she whispers in return with a smile.

 

She leaves Jon and her dad to the bedroom and returns to the moms, still in the kitchen.

 

“Oh, Sansa, I love this,” Lyanna is saying and she holds up an apron Sansa always wears when she finds herself to be in a baking mood.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says with a smile and she can feel her cheeks faintly blush as if embarrassed though she knows she has no reason to be. She looks at the familiar apron in her boyfriend’s mother’s hands. “It was actually the first thing I ever made for myself without a pattern book,” she then says and she can see her mom smiling with pride; as if there’s never been a better apron that has ever been created.

 

It is a simple pink apron, but there is a stitching of a white cupcake with a red cherry on top that Sansa had sewed completely by hand. Over the years of wearing it, there is a small stain of chocolate that she has never been able to get washed out, but Sansa doesn’t mind. Stains on an apron give it character, in her opinion.

 

“Where would you like this, dear?” Catelyn asks, pulling out a picture frame.

 

“Oh,” Sansa says, her cheeks still pink with a blush. “I’ll take that.”

 

It’s a picture of her and Jon – their first and, for the moment, their only picture together. It had been taken the night of that near-disastrous meet-the-parents dinner that had been saved when Jon, thankfully, had realized that he was acting like an idiot.

 

After dinner, the family had sat around the family room, talking with one another, and this time, Jon had sat on the couch next to Sansa. The picture had been taken by Arya – Jon’s arm around Sansa and Sansa tucked into his side and both smiling – and when she had showed it to them afterwards, Sansa had requested a copy and once Arya had gotten it for her, Sansa had framed it.

 

Sansa takes the picture now and goes into the living room, looking around for a moment before setting the frame down on the end table next to the couch. She then takes a step back and looks at it, unable to keep from smiling just at the mere sight of it.

 

“That looks perfect there,” Jon suddenly says from behind her, his arms sliding around her waist, and Sansa instantly melts back into him, smiling, too.

 

“I guess this means we’re official now,” she says.

 

Jon lets out a laugh. “ _Now_?”

 

Sansa's smile widens as she turns, Jon loosening his arms just enough for her to do so. She lifts her arms and rests them on his shoulders. “Well, you don’t have Facebook so I’m simply “in a relationship” so having a picture together definitely makes it official.”

 

Jon just keeps on smiling and lifting a hand to the back of her head, he pulls her in for a kiss.

 

“Was it weird putting our bedroom together with my dad?” Sansa asks with a smile, almost laughing.

 

“If it means that you’re living with me now, I would do it again with your dad _and_ Robb,” Jon answers.

 

Sansa feels her chest expand at that answer and where Jon has been smiling most of the morning, Sansa has been feeling nervous most of the morning. But now, with their picture out on the end table and their bedroom rearranged with their things now, combined, and everything Jon has said to her today, Sansa finds herself smiling now, too, and finally relaxing.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa murmurs quietly.

 

“For what?”

 

She shakes her head slightly, but answers. “For everything.”

 

For giving her a job when she came back and had absolutely no idea what she was going to do with herself. For taking that chance on her and letting her come into his bar when she knows how important his bar is to him. For kissing her. For making a choice that no matter what happened, he wanted to keep kissing her; wanted to keep being with her and for falling in love with her.

 

“I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you,” Sansa then says in a quieter voice.

 

Jon shrugs. “You’d do what you always do. You’d kick ass.”

 

Sansa breaks into another smile and Jon smiles, too, before pulling her back into him for another kiss.

 

Oh, yes. This man will definitely be her husband someday. Not today or tomorrow. Not _yet_. But someday.

 

There isn’t a single doubt in her mind.

 

The buzzer rings out. “Hey. Jeyne and me are here and we have takeaway from Grenn’s,” Robb’s voice announces to them all.

 

“Of course he shows up after all of the furniture has been moved,” Ned says as he goes to the intercom on the wall and presses the button to unlock the door at the bottom of the stairs.

 

And when he repeats that to Robb once he and Jeyne come into the flat with several bags and drink trays, Robb’s mouth falls open with indignation.

 

“I am insulted that you would even _think_ that, dad,” Robb says. “It’s not my fault that you and Jon already moved all of the furniture and didn’t wait for me.”

 

“Did you really want to help?” Sansa hears Jon ask him as she heads into the kitchen.

 

“Help you set up the bedroom you’re now sharing with my sister? Hell, no,” is Robb’s response.

 

“Should we use actual plates?” Lyanna asks. “It _is_ a special occasion.”

 

“Here, Lyanna,” Sansa moves towards one of the cabinets. “We can use these,” she pulls down some plates that they had just put away not even an hour before.

 

Lyanna smiles at her and she can’t seem to rub an affectionate hand on Sansa’s arm. “You are so sweet, Sansa,” Jon’s mother tells her.

 

Sansa’s blush returns. “They’re just plates,” she manages to say.

 

“I just can’t stop looking at it,” Jeyne is saying as Catelyn holds her left hand, looking at the diamond engagement right that Robb had proposed with just three days before. “And I still can’t believe it’s real.”

 

“It’s so beautiful,” Catelyn agrees and just like when Robb and Jeyne had called to tell her and Ned the news three days before, she has tears in her eyes. “Oh, I’m just so happy,” she says for the countless time since learning of their engagement and she pulls Jeyne into a hug.

 

Catelyn and Ned feel as if they’ve been waiting for an engagement for as long as Jeyne has.

 

“Lyanna,” Sansa says once she has handed her own mom the plates and turns back to Jon’s mom. “Can I… may I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course, dear,” Lyanna says and she’s smiling as if just the idea of it is making her happy.

 

Sansa smiles a little smile in return. “When we first met… you said it was nice to _finally_ meet me. What did you mean by that?”

 

Lyanna lets out a slight laugh. “I’ve been listening to my son talk about everyone in the Stark family for so many years, but I never heard your name too often, to be honest.”

 

That’s not surprising to Sansa in the least. Yes, they knew one another growing up, but they had nothing to do with one another for the most part. They hadn’t known one another at all.

 

“But then, one day, I started hearing your name a lot more,” Lyanna says and smiles at Sansa. “It seems like one day, my son went over to the Stark house and was no longer blind.”

 

Sansa blushes and lowers her eyes shyly.

 

She’s not sure what to say to that. She has more questions, but is unsure of how to voice them, so she leaves the questions unasked. For the moment.

 

With orders of fish and chips from Grenn’s divided between them all, Catelyn and Lyanna sit on the sofa, Ned sits in one of the armchairs and Sansa sits in the other. Jeyne, Robb and Jon sit on the floor, using the coffee table, and Ghost and Lady beg for scraps for everyone.

 

“All of the papers should be at my office by Monday so if you come by the office any time after that, we’ll get your signature on everything where I need it and then that should be it,” Ned is saying to Sansa and she listens closely to every word.

 

“Alright,” Sansa agrees because what else can she do other than agree?

 

She trusts her dad with her life and this is what he wants her to do, this is what he thinks is the best thing for her to do, so this is what she’ll do. She’ll sign papers and she will be awarded money – “damages” – and she, hopefully, never has to think about this anymore ever again.

 

She wants to move on. She’s just moved in with her boyfriend. She’s in a relationship with a man and though she had thought herself to be in love before, those had been boys in high school and Sansa knows now that that hadn’t been anything real. Not like this. She’s in a serious relationship with a man, who she loves to death, and she has a job, which she loves, and the life she had in the South, and the person she was, is hardly even a memory anymore.

 

Jon shifts away from the coffee table, finished with his food, and he brings his cup of Coke with him. He leans back against Sansa’s chair and she smiles faintly, beginning to rub one of his shoulders with one of her hands. Jon turns his head and smiles back at her and Sansa smiles down at him in return.

 

“Mom,” Sansa then looks to Catelyn. “After we eat, can I show you something before you and dad leave?”

 

“Of course, darling,” Catelyn says.

 

Jon looks at her curiously, but Sansa just smiles and shakes her head and keeps rubbing his shoulder.

 

…

 

Leaving the others upstairs to clean up and relax a bit after the move, Sansa leads her mother downstairs with Lady following them both. Outside, Sansa walks her mother down the sidewalk, past the bar – still closed for a couple of more hours – and bringing her to a stop in front of the little vacant shop next door.

 

Sansa looks at it for a moment and then turns to look at Catelyn, who is also looking at the shop. “What do you think of this?” Sansa then asks.

 

Catelyn looks away from the shop to look at Sansa. “What do I think of what?”

 

Sansa is starting to smile. “What do you think if I rented this shop? For myself?”

 

And because Sansa is starting to smile, Catelyn is as well. Sansa is beginning to feel excited and Catelyn is able to feel that from her.

 

“With the money the Tyrells are going to be awarding me through the lawsuit, I was thinking… I’ve _been_ thinking… those dresses I did, for my senior fashion show, mom, they were my favorite things of anything I’ve _ever_ designed. And they must have been pretty darn good if someone actually stole their designs. I just… I thought I didn’t love designing as much as I used to, but then, I was designing the tee-shirt for Castle Black Bar and I realized. I didn’t love designing Southern clothes, but designing clothes in the North _for_ the North... what?” She stops herself to ask.

 

Catelyn’s smile has grown and she then shakes her head. “Nothing darling. Please. Go on.”

 

Sansa tries to remember her place. “Please don’t tell Jon. I’m still figuring things out.”

 

“Of course not, Sansa. It’s not my idea to tell him,” Catelyn says and Sansa exhales a deep breath.

 

“Everyone calls the South and King’s Landing the fashion capital of Westeros. But women in the North love pretty dresses just as much.”

 

Catelyn lets out a small laugh at that. “We certainly do.” She steps to her. “Oh, Sansa, I think this is such a wonderful idea.”

 

“You do?” Sansa asks as Catelyn smooths hands over Sansa’s hair.

 

“Sansa, your own shop selling your own dresses? This is your dream,” Catelyn says and tears are now glassing over in her eyes. “I am just so proud of you. Even if you decide to not pursue this, I’m still so proud of you.”

 

Sansa feels her own eyes starting to glass over as Catelyn pulls her into her arms and hugs her tight.

 

“I just want you to be happy, Sansa,” Catelyn says against her hair. “That’s all I want for all of my children.” She puts her hands on Sansa’s shoulders and pulls back so that they may both look at one another. “And over these past few months, since you’ve come home, since Jon… I honestly can’t remember you being happier.”

 

Sansa exhales a shaky breath, the urge to crying growing stronger, but she’s smiling too. “I can’t remember being happier than I am right now either. I hate the way I did come home, but it helped me realize that this is the only place I ever want to be.”

 

“Yes, let’s talk about that,” Catelyn smiles.

 

“Oh, no,” Sansa lets out a laugh.

 

Catelyn puts her arm around Sansa’s shoulder as they begin walking back towards the door that leads up to the flat. “Oh, stop. Nothing awful. You know I love Jon. I was just curious as to what you two are planning.”

 

Sansa smiles and doesn’t even consider not telling her mom. She adores her mom and has always looked to Catelyn as one of her best friends. “He loves me so much, mom. And I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him,” she confesses though she doesn’t think it’s much of a confession.

 

She’s fairly certain anyone just has to look at her face to know how she feels about Jon.

 

“And will there be wedding bells in the future between you two?”

 

Sansa lets out a laugh as she steps forward to unlock the door with her new key, smiling as she does. She has a key because this is her home. “Let’s just focus getting Robb down the aisle first,” she suggests.

 

Back in the flat, their lunch has been cleaned up, but everyone is still sitting around, relaxing. It sounds as if Jeyne and Lyanna are discussing possible colors for the wedding and Ned and Robb are talking work. Catelyn goes to join Jeyne and Lyanna on the sofa and Sansa finds Jon in the kitchen, at the sink.

 

This time, it’s Sansa’s turn to come behind him and she puts her arms around his waist.

 

“Everything okay?” Jon asks, looking over his shoulder, back at her to give her a smile.

 

Sansa returns the smile with one of her own and kisses the back of his neck. “Never better.” And she can only hope that he can hear how much she means those words. 

 

…


	28. Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not what I planned - at all. I hate drama just for drama's sake. But I feel like this has been building with Jon for a while. I've already begun the next chapter and all will be fixed. Thank you in advance!

…

 

Jon feels himself walking up with a smile on his face. An actual smile. And it’s because his arms are currently wrapped around something soft and warm and smelling like buttercream. It makes his smile almost slide into a smirk. After their two rounds of lovemaking the night before, Sansa still manages to smell sweet like a cupcake. Jon, on the other hand, knows he smells like sweat and is in need of a shower.

 

But not yet. Definitely not yet.

 

Sansa is still sleeping peacefully in his arms and Jon has no desire in the world to leave her just yet.

 

Gods, he wonders if it will always be like this. It’s Tuesday morning now and it’s just been a few days since they’ve officially moved and now live together and Jon wonders if this pure need and want for her will ever fade. Jon can’t imagine it doing so and he can only hope that it never will.

 

Last night had been Monday night and his, Sam’s and Robb’s weekly movie night. They got pizza and drank beers as they always did and watched _Aliens_ – Jon’s choice this week. This Monday, Daario, Arya, and Sansa, of course, also joined them.

 

“Where’s Gendry?” Robb asked his youngest sister. Arya promptly gave him the middle finger and Robb’s eyes widened, pretending to be innocent and clueless. “What’d I say?” He asked her which earned him a punch in the arm this time.

 

Jon knew that watching a horror movie with Sansa wasn’t the brightest choice, but he couldn’t be sorry about it with Sansa hugging his arm to her chest and burying her face in his chest for most of it.

 

Later, as they were all leaving, Sansa began cleaning up and Jon clasped the leashes onto Ghost and Lady.

 

“I’ll be back,” Jon promised her – as if he had to – and Sansa smiled, leaning over and giving him a kiss before wishing everyone a good night as Jon followed them with the dogs out the door.

 

Outside, the street is dark and quiet except for the warm glow of the streetlights every few feet and Jon bids Robb, Arya, Daario and Sam final good-nights as they all get into their separate cars and drive off. Jon walks Ghost and Lady down the sidewalk, but he pauses outside of the empty store on the other side of the bar.

 

His heart had sank when, earlier that morning, he had been downstairs in his office, balancing his books, and had taken a break to go onto the realtor’s website too look at the building. “UNDER CONTRACT” had been posted beneath the shop’s listening – words that hadn’t been there just the day before. That morning, Sansa had gone to her father’s law office to sign the last of the settlement papers and then had gone to lunch with both of her parents.

 

When she returned in the early afternoon, Jon was still in his office, working, and trying not to be too sad about the shop.

 

“Are you alright?” Sansa had asked after giving him a kiss.

 

She seemed happy, Jon immediately noted. Lighter. And seeing her smile, Jon was able to smile, too.

 

“I’m alright,” he said to her.

 

Jon stood on the sidewalk outside of the dark and empty shop with their two dogs, feeling sad once again. He wondered who was buying it and what kind of shop it would become. In the back of his mind, he hoped it’d not become another pub – even though it was too small and not at all set up inside to be one. He figured it would probably be another too-expensive art gallery or some sort of crafts store that seemed to be popping up more and more all over in the downtown Winterfell area.

 

He had hoped… it was stupid, he knew, and he was glad he didn’t mention it to Sansa.

 

He walked Lady and Ghost around the downtown Winterfell Square Park before returning to the bar. After unhooking their leashes and following the dogs up the stairs, he entered the flat and locks the door securely behind them all.

 

Sansa had turned off all of the lights except for the little one over the sink in the kitchen, which spilled a warm glow into the hallway. Thinking she was in bed already and not wanting to wake her in case she was already drifting off, Jon checked both bowls in the kitchen for the dogs, making sure they had both food and water, and then turning off the sink light, he headed towards the bedroom.

 

The door was open a crack and when Jon pushed it open, he completely froze.

 

Sansa stood in their room, at the foot of their bed, clearly waiting for him. She had changed from her clothes and she was now wearing a black fur coat that ended just a little bit above her knees. And it looked as if that was the _only_ thing she was wearing.

 

“Hi,” she greeted him as casually as could be.

 

“Hi,” he said, nearly letting out a laugh, slowly coming out of his shock.

 

“Do you like it?” Sansa asked and he knew the only thing she could be referring to was the coat.

 

Jon’s head bobbed quickly in a nod. “I love it,” he said, unable to take his eyes off of her, and Sansa let out a soft giggle that let him know instantly that she was a little nervous. “You look so beautiful, Sansa.”

 

From his place in the doorway, he had still been able to see the blush on her cheeks.

 

“Is there, um… are you wearing anything else?” He managed to ask and she laughed again – this time, light and fun and it made Jon smile.

 

She then flashed the coat open quickly – just quick enough for him to see her completely naked body – before closed it up once again, her hands hugging it tightly closed. Jon let out some sort of half-groan/half-growl and began to instantly undress himself. Sansa let out another giggle and then a shriek as Jon all, but throws himself down onto the bed and then drags her body on top of his.

 

“Sit on my face,” he said in a low, roughened voice and Sansa promptly burst into a blush. “But leave the coat on,” he then was sure to add.

 

Sansa’s blush deepened and Jon knew that she had never done anything like this before. Not just the fur coat, but sitting on a man’s face. While Jon felt an anger at her past partners not caring about Sansa’s pleasure, Jon also felt a surge of possessiveness for being the first who might be able to do this for her – and hopefully, the only, he added to himself.

 

When she still remained standing at the foot of the bed, he opened his mouth to tell her that he wouldn’t do this if she didn’t want – he would never do anything she didn’t want – but before he could open his mouth to do so, Sansa’s hands fell away, the coat opening, and she climbed onto the bed, crawling up his body.

 

And when she knelt above him and sank slowly onto his face, Jon moaned from the heaven of it.

 

This morning now, waking up with Sansa in her arms – he completely naked and Sansa still wearing the black fur coat – Jon is certain he can still taste her on his lips.

 

He smiles and closes his eyes again, nuzzling his nose against the side of her throat, drowning himself in her buttercream scent. Sansa hums between her pursed lips and shifts in his arms. He knows she’s awake now even if her eyes remain closed and Jon begins pressing kisses to her throat.

 

Gods, he wants this for the rest of his life.

 

“Good morning,” he whispers into her ear.

 

Sansa hums again and her eyes remain closed and her lips curl into a smile. He slips his hand into the fur coat and cups a bare breast, feeling her nipple harden instantly against his palm. She shifts, pressing herself back against him and lifting one of her arms, she folds it back to her fingers can grip the hair at the back of his head.

 

“Jon,” she moans and Jon resumes kissing her neck, grinding back against her and palming her breast.

 

 “I want to taste you again,” he murmurs in her ear.

 

“Didn’t you have enough tasting last night?” Sansa asks with her cheeks only a faint tint of pink.

 

Jon’s lips curl into a smile against the curve of her jaw. “It’s time for breakfast and you know what they say about breakfast, love.”

 

“Most important meal of the day?” Sansa guesses, her blush creeping down her neck now.

 

Jon nearly growled. “I need my breakfast, Sansa.”

 

Sansa moans and whimpers simultaneously and as Jon begins shifting away, she rolls onto her back. He moves himself down their bed to position himself between her spread legs. He pauses to look up her body and he nearly forgets how to breathe just then.

 

She is so beautiful. She lays there with her red hair across her pillow and the black fur coat still on her body, but draped open, showing off her pale body. Jon wants to kiss every single inch of her body. But he’ll do this first. He can never do this enough times.

 

Before he can even dip his head down though, Sansa’s phone on the nightstand begins to ring shrilly.

 

“It’s my dad’s ring,” Sansa says regretfully and Jon bites back a groan.

 

Instead, he pulls himself completely off the bed.

 

“Where are you going?” Sansa asks as she picks up the phone and sits up, watching him.

 

“I can’t be naked in bed with you when your dad’s on the phone. I’m taking a cold shower,” he informs her and with her giggle trailing after him, Jon heads into the bathroom, leaving her with some privacy for her call.

 

After his shower, Sansa is still on the phone and Jon gets dressed quietly. He then gestures to the two dogs and then points outside and Sansa nods her head, smiling. Jon’s glad to see her smiling as she talks with her dad. At least that lets him know that Ned Stark’s phone call this morning isn’t _too_ severe.

 

Once Ghost and Lady have been walked around the block, all three come back upstairs. Jon hears the shower running and Sansa is no longer in bed; the black fur coat draped across the foot of it. Deciding that he needs an actual breakfast – though he will take Sansa’s in a second if she doesn’t mind – Jon heads into the kitchen. He knows how seriously Sansa takes breakfast and though, before her, he usually just stuck to bowls of cereal, with her moving in, his refrigerator now has plenty of eggs, bacon and sausages always stocked.

 

He can smell Sansa and her coconut body wash before he feels her and when her arms slip around his waist from behind, he smiles.

 

“Everything okay?” Jon asks as he does his best to concentrate on the sausage patties he’s frying in the pan.

 

“Mmm-hmmm,” she nods, her nose pressed to his shoulder blade. She then lifts her face and rests her chin to his shoulder. “I’m sorry I ruined your breakfast plans,” she says into his ear.

 

Jon lets out a laugh and turns his head enough to look at her face, smiling when he sees hers. “There’s always lunch, love,” he says and she keeps smiling, her eyes dancing, and she kisses his shoulder through his shirt.

 

Jon finishes their sausages and fries up some eggs and Sansa sets the table and gets two of her juice glasses along with the carton of orange juice and before they can sit down and eat, Sansa loops her arms around Jon’s neck and kisses him.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before,” she tells him quietly; as if it’s some grand secret that needs to be kept just between the two of them.

 

Jon smiles as his arms circle around her waist, holding her close. “I know I haven’t been,” he matches her quiet volume and then leans in, his lips meeting hers. “Sansa, you coming home… it’s the best thing to ever happen to me. And I feel like such a prick for saying that because you’ve been through hell these past few months with everything that happened in the South and I shouldn’t be happy that that happened to you, but what happened in the South is the reason you came home. I’m not saying this right,” he frowns, frustrated.

 

“I know you’re not happy for what happened to me in the South, Jon,” Sansa says. “And I feel exactly like you do. For three years, the South was great, but then my senior year… what happened, it opened my eyes to show me that maybe, those first three years weren’t great at all. And then I came home to the North and I started working at Castle Black Bar and seeing you every day and… if what happened to me in the South _didn’t_ happen to me, none of these things would have happened and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

 

Jon stares at her. “Marry me,” he blurts out.

 

Sansa’s eyes widen and Jon’s widen as well.

 

“Jon,” she lets out a slight laugh and she shakes her head. “You don’t mean that.”

 

And Jon nearly tells her that she’s right. Jon nearly lets out a laugh and changes the subject, but he’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and she’s in his arms, in _their_ flat, and they’re about to sit down for breakfast. He’s not joking about any of that. He wants this with her, every day, for the rest of his life.

 

And if they get married… she can’t go back South so easily without him. Or at all.

 

He nearly hates himself for that though. Asking – not even asking – Sansa to marry him so she’ll have to stay up here and not go back South even when he knows that Sansa’s talent _belongs_ in the South, he is such an asshole and she has every right in the world to hate him, too, if she knows that he had just thought that.

 

“Jon,” she says again as if she’s able to peak into his minds. “It’s just been almost three months since I’ve been back,” she points out to him.

 

“It has,” Jon agrees – not that he can argue with a fact like that.

 

“I love you, Jon, but it’s too soon to talk about marriage,” Sansa says. “I thought we weren’t there yet.”

 

“What if I am?” He asks. “There. What if I am there?”

 

“I’m not,” Sansa shakes her head. She visibly swallows. “I will be, one day,” she assures him. “Just not yet. We’ve… Jon, we’ve just moved in with each other. We still have so much to learn about one another. You might find something out about me that you will absolutely hate.”

 

Jon actually feels himself smiling a little. “That’s not possible, Sansa,” he says.

 

“Yes, it is!” She insists and steps from his arms. “It’s very possible, Jon. We love each other, but maybe, one day, you’re going to wake up and not love me as much and we have to be together longer than just a couple of months to see if _that_ is possible as well.”

 

“Sansa, we can be together for years and me falling out of love with you will _never_ happen. Do you see yourself falling out of love with me?” He asks, his stomach already knotting.

 

“I don’t know, Jon,” she answers and that is definitely _not_ the answer he wanted to hear from her. “Jon,” she rushes back to him and takes his hands in hers. “Jon, please look at me.”

 

He hadn’t even been aware that he hadn’t been looking at her, but she’s right. He’s staring at the floor instead and it takes him a few moments to finally be able to lift them again to look at her. Her eyes are glassed over with tears and no matter what she says, seeing Sansa on the verge of tears shakes him out of it.

 

“I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean that I am going to fall out of love with you. I can’t ever imagine myself not being in love with you,” she says quickly, panic in her voice and on her face.

 

Jon pulls his hands from hers so he can put his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “It’s alright, Sansa,” he whispers into her hair.

 

But what’s alright, Jon’s not entirely sure.

 

He’s not sure why he’s acting or feeling such hurt though. While he may be able to see a forever with Sansa, it shouldn’t surprise him in the least that she doesn’t see the same with him. He’s known it from the instant he gave her a job in the bar. He’s never anticipated it to be forever, but he fell in love with her and asked her to move in with him despite knowing that.

 

It’s not Sansa’s fault for just telling him what he’s always known.

 

It’s his own damn fault for himself having conveniently forgotten.

 

“Come on, love,” he says, his hands rubbing her back and his lips to her head. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

 

Sansa exhales a shaky breath and she wipes her cheeks as he pulls her chair out for her and she sits down before he goes to sit in his place across from him.

 

They eat in silence for a few heavy minutes and Jon can’t taste a single bite of food he pushes into his mouth.

 

“Jon?” Sansa speaks up in a quiet voice.

 

Jon looks at her and waits for her to continue.

 

“On the phone, my dad and I were finalizing things with _Westeros Chic_. I’m going to have an interview and photoshoot with Melisandre Asshai this Thursday,” Sansa says. “I was hoping you would want to come with me. I think it will keep me from being so nervous if I know you’re there with me.”

 

Jon knows what his answer should be. He knows what Sansa wants him to say and despite everything right now – despite it feeling like his stomach fell to his feet and has yet to rise again – Jon knows what he wants his answer to be as well.

 

But that’s not at all what passes through his lips. His brain and mouth seem to have no agreement right now.

 

“I’ll see if I can make it,” he says and Sansa looks at him for a moment and he can see more tears pooling in her eyes, but instead of any falling, Sansa does her best to give him a smile – small and tight and barely there at all – before she looks back down to her breakfast plate and feeds Lady and Ghost bits of toast.

 

Jon hates himself even more and he hadn’t thought that would be possible.

 

Neither exchange another word for the rest of breakfast.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope this wasn't hated too much.


	29. Twenty-Nine

…

 

The door to the bar flies open so fast, Daario lifts his head, pausing from wiping glasses to see who it is, wondering if they’re about to be robbed.

 

Arya Stark storms into the bar with fire in her eyes. “Where is your asshole boss?” She demands to know.

 

Daario pauses, wondering if he should warn Jon that someone is here to murder him, but instead, he silently points his finger towards the back office and keeps wiping the glass as he watches Arya storm in that direction. Tormund comes out from the bathroom and looks to Daario, looking towards the office.

 

“What’s going on?” He asks.

                                                                                                        

Daario shakes his head and puts his finger to his lips before jerking his heads towards the office. Tormund raises an eyebrow and comes to join him behind the bar.

 

“What’s going on?” He asks again, but this time in a whisper.

 

Daario tries to casually turn his head more towards the office while acting as if he doesn’t care at all as to what is going on in the office. But of course, he cares and of course he’s curious. Jon’s been in a mood for the past couple of days; sometimes, acting as if he’s pissed enough to set the world on fire and other times, acting as if someone has kidnapped Ghost.

 

Daario doesn’t have to be a genius to guess what happened – especially considering that Sansa is acting pretty much the same way. The picture-perfect couple has obviously gotten into some kind of fight and even if they haven’t been so damn obvious about it, Arya Stark here, prepared to murder Jon, is proof enough.

 

“What the hell are you doing here, Jon Snow?” Arya’s harsh demand echoes throughout the rest of the bar.

 

“Ah,” Tormund says, understanding now.

 

Sitting at his desk, Jon looks to Arya, standing across from him and with the look of fury in her eyes, Jon is thankful that there is a piece of furniture between them.

 

_“If you do hurt her though, I’m going to sick Arya on you.”_

He hears Robb’s words in his ears and Jon is actually surprised Arya hasn’t shown up sooner than now.

 

“Answer me, Snow,” Arya snaps at him. “Why the hell are you here and not with my sister at her interview?”

 

“I’m doing paperwork, Arya,” Jon manages to say and is a bit surprised that he sounds a bit snappish as well. “I told Sansa I _might_ be able to make it. I might not. I have work to do. Sansa understands that.”

 

“Does she?”

 

“Why don’t you ask her if she understands or not?” Jon frowns.

 

Arya looks as if she’s ready to throw something at him and Jon glances down to the stapler. She takes a deep breath, as if doing her best to calm herself though her nostrils are still flaring as if she’s gearing up for a fight.

 

“This is the most important day in Sansa’s life,” Arya tells him. “You remember Sansa, don’t you? Your girlfriend, who you live with and who you love?”

 

“Arya,” Jon begins to say, his voice taking on a warning tone.

 

Arya’s not going to have it though. “No, Jon. You are going to listen to me right now. Ever since Sansa came home and you gave her this job, she has loved this bar and she has supported _you_ with this bar. She spends all of her time here. She has made you a _tee-shirt_ for this bar. She has been talking to Bran about setting up a _website_ for you and this bar. And you can’t even go and support _her_ in something that she loves?”

 

Leave it to Arya to dump an entire salt truck over his open wounds, but Jon knows that she’s right. Of course, she’s right. Sansa’s interview and photoshoot with the biggest fashion magazine is today and Sansa had asked him to be there with her and instead, Jon is sitting here, pretending that he’s just too busy to go and be with her and hold her hand in case she gets too nervous.

 

He’s an asshole. He knows that – without a doubt. He just hasn’t been wanting to have someone remind him of that right at this second. He had wanted to wallow at his desk for a bit of time more.

 

“I thought you loved her,” Arya says and she says it with a scoff as if it’s never been true.

 

And something about that scoff makes Jon snap.

 

“She’s going to leave me, Arya!” He exclaims in a raised tone, practically jumping up onto his feet.

 

Arya blinks at him. “What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?”

 

Jon takes a deep breath, getting himself to be calm once again. “Sansa is going to do this interview and photoshoot and we all know that she’s going to be amazing. And this lady from _Westeros Chic_ and every other designer in the South is going to know it and there is no way Sansa is going to stay in the North.”

 

Arya stares at him for a moment – as if she’s working through what Jon has just said.

 

“You are such an asshole, Jon,” she then says.

 

“Why? It’s the truth,” Jon frowns.

 

“So, what? Yes, Sansa is going to be amazing today and everyone will soon see that for themselves, but you _don’t_ know that she’s going to go South again. If you listen to her, she hates the South now as much as any of us. And even if she _does_ go South, you’re an asshole for cutting her loose before anything like that happens.”

 

“I’m not cutting her loose, Arya,” Jon nearly growls. “I love her more than anything. But I can’t… I can’t just sit around and wait because we both know that Sansa is going to go South and a year from now, she’s not even going to remember me.”

 

The look of wanting to throw something right at his head returns to Arya’s face.

 

“You know nothing, Jon Snow, and you’re a coward and the best thing Sansa can do for herself is leave your ass behind if you have absolutely _no_ faith in her and want to make sure you’re the one to walk away first.”

 

“That’s not-” Jon begins to argue.

 

Arya won’t let him finish though. Without another word, she spins back towards the door and looks as if she’s going to leave without another look back to him. But then, just as Jon is considering to let his guard down, Arya spins back around, picks the stapler up from his desk and chucks it. Jon is able to duck as it flies past his head and smashes into the wall, leaving behind a hole that will definitely have to be plastered over.

 

He can’t find himself to even yell after her though.

 

She had every right in the world to throw a stapler at his head and he should be thankful that it was _only_ a stapler. Arya’s right in her words, too. He is a coward and he doesn’t know anything. He’s been trying to tell himself that he’s going to enjoy this relationship with Sansa and he’s not going to look towards the end – wherever and whenever that may be - and this morning, when Robb had come to pick Sansa up for her shoot and interview, Sansa hadn’t asked him, again, if he was coming. She already knew what his answer would be. She had just given him a small smile and a short kiss on the lips and he had told her good luck before she left.

 

He’s an asshole. Just thinking of the way, he had acted this morning with her, Jon wants to get Arya back in here and throw the stapler again and this time, he won’t move his head out of the way.

 

_And you can’t even go and support her in something that she loves?_

“Fuck,” Jon grabs his keys and makes sure he has his wallet before leaving his office. “Daario, I’m heading out. Call Dickon if you need help,” he says as he heads towards the back door. “Tormund, call Dickon if it looks like Daario’s drowning!”

 

“Got it, boss!” Tormund calls after him.

 

Jon nearly makings a running jump into his car and then tears out of the back-parking lot. He’s not sure how he’s going to get into this photoshoot. He assumes not just anyone can just walk into a magazine’s photoshoot. Hopefully, there’s some kind of list and Sansa has put his name onto it even though she’s dating a man whose head is up his ass.

 

As he drives, he’s thinking of all of the words he wants to include in his apology and his begging to Sansa to forgive him. _Asshole_ and _idiot_ are just two of the words on repeat in his mind and he can only hope that Sansa hasn’t given up on him and this relationship just because he’s an idiot who almost already has. This relationship is the best thing to ever happen to him and he can’t imagine not having Sansa in his life. He went years without her, but now that he has her, he’s an idiot for even thinking he’d be fine with her leaving.

 

She’s not leaving anywhere and if she is, Jon is going to tie himself to her and where she goes, he’ll go, too.

 

…

 

Sansa takes a deep breath.

 

“Alright, what you just did? Playing with the skirt and letting the wind catch it? That was perfect, Sansa. Do that again,” the photographer directs and Sansa nods quickly. “Can I get hair in here really quick?” He then calls out and within seconds, there’s a woman with her comb, adjusting Sansa’s braid and the wisps of hair that she had styled loose.

 

 _Westeros Chic_ is a Southern magazine and the stylists at first had wanted to give her some elaborate Southern hairstyle before Sansa put a stop to it and had taken a moment to explain to Melisandre Asshai why that wouldn’t work. The North is not the South, by any means.

 

Thankfully, Melisandre Asshai had agreed. “You listen to Sansa today,” the woman had instructed her team.

 

“You ready, Sansa?” The photographer asks and the hair stylist removes herself from the shot and Sansa takes another deep breath before nodding. “Remember, when you step forward, back straight, chin out and skim your feet as if you’re walking on water.”

 

Sansa still doesn’t understand that direction, but she keeps quiet. Who on this earth knows what it’s like to walk on water? She doesn’t ask the photographer that though.

 

She wishes Jon was here. Robb is – having come to make sure that Melisandre Asshai doesn’t ask her any question that Sansa won’t be able to answer and also to offer her support. Catelyn is there as well, sitting in a chair, watching the photoshoot, her smiles towards Sansa constant and warm and encouraging and Catelyn is definitely helping with the butterflies in Sansa’s stomach.

 

She just wishes that Jon was here, too.

 

Over the past few days, things have just been… _quiet_ between them. There hasn’t been fighting or blatantly ignoring one another. There just has been a quietness that Sansa has been trying to pretend isn’t actually there. She is still trying to figure out _why_ there is a silence between them.

 

Jon had blurted out “Marry me” to her and Sansa had panicked because she’s not ready for that. Not yet. With Jon someday? Definitely. Or at least that answer had been definitely, but that she had babbled about maybe someday, not loving him – which is the most untrue thing she’s ever said. She has been in love with Jon for just a little bit of time now and she already can’t imagine going another day in her life, _not_ being in love with him.

 

She just still has no idea why Jon actually asked her to marry him – if that was actually a proposal. She’s still not entirely sure if it was or not.

 

“Perfect!” The photographer exclaims. “We definitely got it, Sansa,” he smiles at her and Sansa smiles, too.

 

She’s been told by more than one person back at school that she’s beautiful enough to easily be a model, but Sansa has never agreed with that opinion. She likes being behind the camera much more, getting the attention from the art she puts on the bodies in front of the camera.

 

Sansa returns to where her mom and Robb are sitting – Robb talking on his cell phone.

 

“You look so beautiful, dear,” Catelyn smiles at her, handing her a bottle of water and Sansa gives her a small smile, the knots in her stomach only tightening because now, she knows, it’s time for the interview.

 

Melisandre Asshai is exactly what Sansa knows her to be from reading _Westeros Chic_ religiously from the time when she was twelve and had already made the decision that fashion would be her life.

 

She’s beautiful, but even her beauty is intimidating. She is sharp-angled with long, dark red hair and piercing blue eyes that could stop a person in their tracks with just one look. She is frightening and though she had given Sansa a smile and kind words upon being so happy to meet her, Sansa is still terrified of the coming interview with Melisandre Asshai herself interviewing her. And even though Sansa has no desire to return to the South, this woman can still make or break her. This woman _is_ fashion.

 

“I wish Jon was here,” Sansa confesses to her mom in a quiet voice.

 

Catelyn doesn’t say anything. Her smile turns a bit sympathetic though as she rubs Sansa’s arm comfortingly.

 

Sansa leans in a bit closer to her mother. It doesn’t matter how old Sansa is or how old she ever will be. Sometimes, a girl just needs her mother and she’s so glad that Catelyn is there with her that day if Jon can’t be. No, not _can’t_ be. Doesn’t want to be. That’s more of the truth, isn’t it?

 

“Sansa.” Melisandre Asshai approaches them then. She is not smiling, but Sansa reminds herself that this woman hardly ever smiles – even around those that she genuinely seems to like.

 

Sansa stands up straight.

 

“We’ll do our interview there-” she gestures towards two chairs set up nearby a tree. “And then we’ll take one more photo of the two of us and then we’re done. How does that sound?” She asks.

 

Sansa manages a smile at the woman. “That sounds lovely.”

 

She turns to hand her mother the water bottle and her eyes catch something up the gravel path where their cars had been parked. A head of curly black hair. A very familiar head.

 

“Jon,” she breathes, hardly able to believe it.

 

And as if Jon can hear her, he begins jogging down the slight hill to get to her that much sooner. Sansa feels tears building up in her eyes, but she does her best to stop any from falling, not wanting to ruin her makeup.

 

“You came,” Sansa says as soon as Jon is in front of her and she lifts her arms, wrapping them around his neck, and Jon hauls her body tightly to his, his arms tight bands around her waist.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says into her ear.

 

Sansa shakes her head, realizing that she doesn’t need to hear that. “You’re here,” she says and pulls her head back so she can look to his face and smile.

 

Jon smiles, too. “You look beautiful.”

 

Sansa wants to kiss him, but again, her makeup, so instead, she smiles and squeezes her arms around his neck one time before stepping back and turning to Melisandre.

 

“Melisandre, this is my boyfriend, Jon Snow. Jon, this is Melisandre Asshai,” Sansa makes the introductions, her hand slipping into his and the smile happy on her face.

 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Jon says politely, shaking Melisandre’s extended hand. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Sansa.”

 

Melisandre raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at that. “All nice things, I imagine,” she says wryly; as a woman who is used to people saying anything _but_  nice things about her.

 

Jon seems to know that and he looks to Sansa with a smile before back to Melisandre. “I know that there are two people Sansa admires more than anyone else in this world and that’s her mother and you.”

 

Melisandre seems quite surprised at that answer and she looks at Jon for a long moment before moving her eyes to Sansa. “I’ve heard stories of fierce Northern mother wolves. I will take that as a compliment.”

 

Sansa smiles at the woman as she squeezes Jon’s hand. He squeezes it back and she’s still nervous to be talking to this woman, but now, with Jon here along with her brother and her mother, Sansa knows that she can get through this without those nerves showing.

 

“Shall we?” Melisandre gestures towards the chairs and Sansa nods before looking to Jon.

 

“I’ll be with your mom and Robb,” Jon tells her and then leans in, kissing her ear so not to mess with her makeup or her hair, and he watches as Sansa smiles at him and then walks with Melisandre to two chairs set up away from the others, but not that far where they won’t be able to hear their interview.

 

Jon knows that Robb has made that request so he can stop any question from being asked that has to do with the Tyrells and _Highgarden_. The lawsuit may have been settled, but none of the Starks want to talk about it. If the Tyrells do, that’s their business, but Sansa wants to leave it all behind her and the family is in agreement.

 

Another chair is brought over for Jon and he sits down in between Catelyn and Robb. Catelyn leans over and kisses him on the cheek while giving his hand a squeeze.

 

“It’s good you’re here,” is all she says and Jon doesn’t know how to respond – besides calling himself an asshole – and he just gives her a smile before looking back to Sansa and Melisandre.

 

He has missed the first couple of questions, only hearing her answer to the last one. “Arctic Monkeys whether I’m washing the dishes or folding laundry or working on my designs. It’s amazing to me, really, that Jon hasn’t tossed my iPod out the window yet.”

 

“A few softball warmup questions,” Robb says quietly from beside him. “Get her comfortable.”

 

“Did Melisandre Asshai really agree to no questions about the Tyrells?” Jon asks.

 

Robb nods. “She had to if she wanted to talk with Sansa and anyone, even Melisandre Asshai, can take one look at Sansa and know that she’s a lot more than just some lawsuit.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sansa answers Melisandre’s next question and Jon returns his attention to her. “I learned quite a bit in the South while I attended school. I’ll never deny that. I had some truly wonderful professors who taught me so much. But I’m a girl from the North who was trying so hard to fit myself into a Southern mold and in the end, that just isn’t who I am and since coming home, I’ve never been happier.”

 

“So even though King’s Landing is the fashion capitol of Westeros, you still won’t return to the South?” Melisandre asks.

 

Jon finds himself holding his breath.

 

Sansa shakes her head and gives a slight smile. “Maybe I can have a hand in making Winterfell a fashion capitol of Westeros as well.”

 

“And how would you do that?” Melisandre asks – not being condescending, but seeming to be generally curious, even leaning the slightest bit forward in her chair towards Sansa.

 

“Well, I’m still waiting for it to go through and be made official, but I’ve made an offer on an empty shop next door to Jon’s bar and my hopes are to open up my own dress shop,” Sansa smiles. “Northern women love to be in beautiful dresses, too.”

 

Jon nearly falls out of his chair at her answer and his head whips over to look at Robb. At Robb’s dry smile across his lips, Jon knows that his best mate has known about this.

 

“So how about you stop being a dick, eh?” Robb suggests.

 

“Robb,” Catelyn chastises, but Jon sees the smile on her face as well.

 

Jon doesn’t know what to say. Can anything be said? He looks back to Sansa and feeling his eyes, she glances over to him and gives him a quick, small smile before putting her attention on Melisandre once again. Jon makes sure he remains sitting and doesn’t go right up to Sansa right now, in the middle of her interview, and kiss her like how he wants to. That will have to wait, but he _will_ be kissing her as soon as he can.

 

He really is a dick and he hates himself for not having faith in her; in _them_.

 

“Well,” Melisandre says. “If your future dresses are anything like the one you’re wearing right now, it seems like I may be returning to Winterfell sooner than I ever would have imagined.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter thirty will be the last chapter and I can't thank you enough for all of the reads, kudos and comments!


	30. Thirty

…

 

..3 months later..

 

“You need to find your Pyp,” Beth says to him rather randomly, sitting on a stool with her gin and tonic.

 

Daario smirks from the other side of the bar, finishing mixing up the martinis for a waiting table. “I’m good, Beth, thanks. I like the ladies,” is his reply.

 

“Not like that, Daario,” she rolls her eyes at him and his smirk slides into a smile. “I mean, _your_ Pyp. Someone you can fall in love with.”

 

Daario’s smile fades a little as he takes the empty pitcher from the college kid who’s come up to the bar and he refills it with beer for him. “Doubt that will ever happen for me,” he says.

 

 _Not after you_ goes unsaid. He’s never told Beth that he loves her and it’s not fair of him to tell her that now. She’s with _her_ Pyp and she’s happy. They’re both in love, have a cat together and every time they come into Castle Black Bar after work, both are smiling.

 

Daario might be a prick, but he’s not _that_ big of a prick to ruin that for Beth. She shouldn’t have to deal with him being so stupid to fall in love with her only after she left for good and he lost her.

 

“I didn’t think that would ever happen to me either,” Beth confesses quietly. “Not after you,” she then adds, obviously having no issue with saying what Daario can’t and won’t say.

 

“I’m not looking to be in love, Beth,” Daario tells her.

 

“That’s when it usually hits you,” Beth says and smiles at him. “I want you to be happy, Daario. I… I still care about you and I want you to be happy.”

 

Daario wishes he can tell her things, but still, he stops himself before he can. He may have treated her like a dick in the past, but he’s done doing that. Beth is happy and he loves her enough to make sure that she keeps being happy; even if that means he has to swallow his own tongue every time he sees Beth and Pyp together.

 

And he likes this, too. He likes night when Beth comes in – without Pyp – and she sits at the bar and they can talk and laugh through her one, sometimes two, gin and tonic before heading home. He likes that they can be at this “friend” point with one another despite everything that’s happened between them. He’d rather have Beth as his friend than not have her at all. He used to think that was such bullshit when guys would say something like that in movies, but now, he understands because he wants Beth Cassel in his life no matter what; no matter in what capacity.

 

So when Beth says something, he truly listens to her now. And Beth talking about him finding love, Daario admits that it gets stuck in his head whether he actually wants it stuck in there or not.

 

Tuesdays are no longer their slow night. After the pub crawl and it was discovered that Castle Black Bar showed all VH1 reality shows on Tuesday nights, the word spread and now, people cram into the bar to drink and watch episodes of _I Love New York, Flavor of Love_ and _Rock of Love_. It has gotten so busy – and not just on Tuesdays – that Jon has hired Dickon, officially, to help on Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.

 

With business at such a high, it definitely wasn’t the ideal time for Sansa to stop working there, but her shop was nearly about to open and Jon refused to let her work at the bar anymore despite Sansa saying she could still help in the evenings when her own shop closed for the day. The bar is now so busy, being without a waitress just isn’t possible, but before Jon could put an advertisement in the paper – like he had first planned to do before hiring Sansa all those months ago – luck, once again, intervened.

 

Sansa ran into her old best friend from school, Jeyne Poole, when she and Jon were at the market. Sansa and Jeyne hugged one another, it having been quite a few years since they last saw one another, and Jeyne introduced her one-year-old daughter, Meg, and Sansa asked what Jeyne had been up to. Jeyne had been living in Essos (where Meg’s father still lived) and had worked all sorts of jobs, having never finding anything in particular that she had been necessarily passionate about.

 

“So, what do you think?” Sansa asked once Sansa and Jeyne made plans for lunch the next day and Jon began pushing their trolley towards the crisps aisle, Sansa at his side.

 

“About what?” He asked in reply.

 

“About hiring Jeyne.”

 

Jon blinked. “She has a baby.”

 

“So do a lot of women.”

 

Jon had learned to not ignore Sansa’s advice when it came to Castle Black Bar and he had Sansa bring Jeyne by the bar the next day, after their lunch, to see if she was interested in a job there. She definitely was and Jon hired her as soon as he found out that she had more than enough waitressing experience.

 

Daario is still thinking of Beth’s words from days earlier when he goes into the back storage room to get more napkins for the bar and sees Jeyne is already in there, standing on her tip toes, trying to get a box from the top shelf on the racking against the wall. She’s a little thing so it’s proving to be more difficult than it would be for someone like Daario – or even Sansa, for that matter.

 

Daario goes and easily reaches up past her, grabbing the box.

 

“Oh!” Jeyne spins around, surprised and startled, and Daario sees her relax when she sees that it’s him. “Thank you,” she then smiles as he places the box on the floor.

 

“No problem,” he says.

 

Jeyne crouches down in front of it and opening it, she sifts through the shirts inside, finding two S-size Castle Black Bar tee-shirts and draping them over her shoulder. Daario is still standing there, watching her, before he remembers that he came into the storage room for something as well. He goes to get the napkins as Jeyne closes the box back up and stands up.

 

“Should we leave this down, do you think?” She asks. “I’m sure these won’t be the only ones we sell tonight.”

 

“Here.” Daario holds out the napkins for her to take, which she does, and he hefts the box up. “There’s room for it behind the bar.”

 

Jeyne smiles at him for that, her cheeks a faint pink. “Thank you for your help, Daario,” she says, but before he can even open his mouth to say anything, she hurries from the room to get back out to the bar.

 

Daario goes back behind the bar and slides the box onto the shelf in the empty spot he’s made after shifting a few spare bottles aside to make room. When he stands up, Jeyne is there again, standing in front of Jon with a new order, and Daario busies himself with mixing drinks for others, standing at the bar, glad for the distraction so he’s not looking at the newest employee of Castle Black Bar. Jeyne Poole’s not necessarily beautiful, but she _is_ cute with her chestnut brown hair and matching eyes and pale skin even after living in Essos for a couple of years and Daario’s never found himself stealing glances at a cute girl like he is now. Jeyne probably thinks he hates her though. This is her seventh night working here and Daario is pretty sure he’s said all of fifteen words to her – including everything he just said to her in the storage room.

 

He just keeps hoping that neither Jon or Tormund point out to him that he had – harmlessly – began flirting with Sansa the instant she started working there.

 

Daario’s not sure how he’ll explain or defend himself if they bring that up.

 

An hour before closing, the last episode of the night ends and the bar begins emptying out, some staying to get one more drink before last call. Jon makes sure everything is calm enough again for him to step away. He walks out of the bar with a smile on his face that only grows as his feet carry him to the shop next door. The sign arrived the day before and the contractors hired to turn the shop into Sansa’s dream had hung it. Jon stops now and tilts his head up so he can read it for the countless time.

 

_Winterfell Designs_

 

And then in smaller print: _Clothing by Sansa Stark_

The shop is just about to open and Sansa has been working nonstop, having already been receiving orders from different clients – including from her mom and the other women part of WoW. There is even a woman in the South who has set up an appointment with Sansa to come for a fitting and shopping trip. Her article in _Westeros Chic_ that had come out the month before certainly helped explode her reputation if the news of a fashion student suing a Southern fashion house hadn’t already done that.

 

Jon knows that Sansa will need to hire help in no time.

 

He knows she’s in there rather than upstairs in their flat. She always comes to see him in the bar before she goes upstairs, oftentimes, staying below so she can hang out with Daario and Tormund just like old times.

 

Jon takes out his key that Sansa has given him and unlocks the front door, the bell above his head tinkling.

 

There is a wooden counter in front of the large storefront window to ring up purchases and an area for trying on dresses that include a curtained-off dressing room, a three-way mirror and a small step-platform for the woman to stand on so she will be able to see the whole dress. There are tables as well as mannequins – bare for the moment, waiting to be dressed. Besides her one-of-a-kind dresses, Sansa has also developed relationships with a few fashion buyers and will be selling accessories that fit in with her dresses.

 

It looks perfect. Everything is in warm, soft shades of pinks and creams and dark wood and it already smells like buttercream like Sansa.

 

“Hey,” Sansa says, stepping out from her back workroom, breaking him from his thoughts. “I didn’t know it had gotten that late already.”

 

Jon smiles and crosses the shop to go to her, wrapping her up in his arms. Sansa smiles, slipping her arms around his shoulders and Jon dips his lips to hers, kissing her softly and sweetly. “Mmmm,” he says once he pulls his face back. “You’ve been eating peanut butter M&Ms,” he says and she smiles, laughing slightly.

 

“Guilty,” she says and then steps back, taking his hands in hers. “Come see.”

 

He follows her into her backroom. “You finished,” he says once he sees the dresses hanging on the rack.

 

“Just tonight,” Sansa beams proudly. “Want to help me get the mannequins dressed?” She then asks him with a smile and a dancing in her eyes.

 

“I would love to help,” he says sincerely.

 

Sansa steps to him and kisses him softly on the lips. She then goes and takes half of the dresses that she has been working on tirelessly for the past three months and Jon carefully takes the other half.

 

Together, they get the mannequins dressed in Winterfell Design’s first collection, Sansa laughing when Jon puts a dress on backwards and she has to help him dress the mannequin again. When they are finished, there are eight newly-clothed mannequins, all wearing their dresses and waiting for the store’s grand opening.

 

Jon stands there and looks at his girlfriend’s dresses and he then looks to Sansa with a smile.

 

“What is it?” Jon asks, momentarily panicked when he sees the tears glassing in her eyes.

 

Sansa shakes her head though and turns to him, pressing her face to the side of his neck. “This is really happening. I’m really doing this,” she whispers.

 

“Hell, yeah, you’re doing this. And you’re already a mad success,” Jon says, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight and close. “You’re so amazing, Sansa Stark,” he then whispers against her forehead.

 

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Jon,” she whispers in return and lifts her head so she can look into his face and into his eyes.

 

Jon swallows the thick lump that has now become lodged in his throat.

 

He thinks of the small party her parents are going to be hosting to celebrate the opening of Sansa’s dress shop and he thinks of the ring in his dresser drawer that he hopes to give her that same evening. He knows it hasn’t been that long still, but he knows that he and Sansa are _there_. He doesn’t doubt it. And this second time he asks her to marry him, it’s not out of fear for her to stay, but rather, it’s because he doesn’t want to imagine the rest of his life if he’s not living it with her.

 

“Dressing mannequins? I think I’ve just proven that _anyone_ else could have been a better help,” he finally manages to say and Sansa laughs softly before Jon kisses her again.

 

Sansa locks up Winterfell Designs tight behind her for the night and then she and Jon walk hand-in-hand back into Castle Black Bar – now empty of customers and closed for the night as the others have begun to clean up. But it’s not just Daario, Tormund, Dickon and Jeyne. Beth is still there and Myrcella has come to join her boyfriend and the others. Jon’s not surprised to see any of them there. Robb is sitting in a chair at a table with Jeyne in his lap, him whispering something in his fiancée’s ear that is making her laugh and blush.

 

“Oi! Boss!” Tormund calls out when Jon and Sansa step inside. “What is that?” He asks and points to the something that has been set next to the bar all night, covered with a cloth.

 

Jon looks to Sansa and gives her a smile and squeezes her hand before pulling his hand back and heading to what Tormund is talking about. “Okay,” he says to everyone and everyone instantly pays attention. “When my mentor, Jeor Mormont, passed away, the man had left me the money to buy this bar, but there were some stipulations as to how I could and could not use that money. And one was, I couldn’t have a bar that had karaoke nights.”

 

“Seriously?” Daario’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “Why didn’t you just tell me that? I would have backed off.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Jon and Sansa say at the same time.

 

Daario tosses his towel in Sansa’s face, making her laugh, and Jon smirks, turning and whipping the cloth away, revealing a beat-up karaoke system, speaker and a microphone.

 

“But, I thought with Sansa’s shop opening up next door soon-”

 

Their friends break in and all begin cheering and clapping, Sansa promptly breaking into a blush and smile.

 

“-I figured Jeor wouldn’t mind if we have a bit of fun. _Just_ us with no other customers,” Jon explains.

 

“Are you going to sing for us, Snow?” Robb asks with a grin as Jon turns on the machine.

 

“I’m going to sing for _Sansa_ ,” Jon corrects him.

 

Sansa smiles. “You are?” She asks and then gasps when _R U Mine?_ by the Arctic Monkeys begin to play.

 

Tormund kicks a chair over to Jon and Jon steps up onto it just as he begins singing into the microphone. Everyone begins cheering immediately and he feels like an idiot, but Sansa is standing in front of him, just absolutely beaming, clasping her hands and looking as if she’s about to start crying, and Jon knows he’ll be an idiot for the rest of his life as long as Sansa keeps looking at him like she is right now. Like she loves him completely and she’ll always love him as much as she does right now.

 

“I'm a puppet on a string,  
Tracy island, time-traveling diamond,  
Could a shaped heartaches,  
Come to find ya fall in some velvet morning.

 

Years too late,  
She's a silver lining lone ranger riding,  
Through an open space,  
In my mind when she's not right there beside me.

 

I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be.  
And satisfaction feels like a distant memory.  
And I can't help myself,  
All I wanna hear her say is are you mine?

 

Are you mine?  
Are you mine?  
Are you mine?”

 

Sansa doesn’t let him sing the next verse. Instead, she steps right up in front of him, takes his free hand not holding the microphone and tugs on him. Jon smiles and bending forward, he kisses her. Their friends are still making noise all around them, but Jon honestly doesn’t hear anything; not with Sansa kissing him and her other hand sliding back into his curls, keeping his lips firmly to hears.

 

Jeyne takes her turn next, laughing and singing Eddie Money’s _Take Me Home Tonight_ and Robb cheering and shouting “Hell, yeah, I will!”

 

Jon sits down at a table with Daario, Jeyne Poole and Myrcella, all enjoying a basket of popcorn and laughing – and trying not to choke – as Tormund hops up onto the chair after Jeyne and begins to sing _Bust a Move_ by Young MC. Sansa is at the bar with Beth, getting herself a Guinness and the two talking and laughing, before Sansa comes to Jon. He grins when she doesn’t hesitate in sitting down in his lap and he leans into her, pressing her at the corner of her jaw and feeling her shiver and lean more into him.

 

Sansa turns her head to look at him and she leans in, resting her forehead against his. “I love you.”

 

And even though it’s loud in there and she whispers those words, Jon can still hear her perfectly.

 

He sweeps a hand across her cheek and cups the back of her head, pulling her in for a kiss. “I love you, too.”

 

Sansa keeps beaming and with her forehead against his, she closes her eyes and exhales a sigh of complete happiness.

 

When Tormund finishes his performance, Myrcella stands up and stands on her tip-toes as he bends over and they kiss one another, Myrcella breaking off into a laugh when Tormund wraps his arms around her waist and easily swings her off the floor.

 

“Are you going to sing anything?” Jeyne asks Daario as she takes another piece of popcorn.

 

“No,” he shakes his head.

 

“I thought you were always bothering Jon for karaoke,” Jeyne says with her brow slightly furrowed, confused.

 

“Not because _I_ wanted to sing,” he smiles a little. “Your ears should be grateful.”

 

Jeyne smiles a little, too, and Daario is quick to look away from her and that smile. His eye catches Beth at the bar, talking with Dickon and Pyp, who has just arrived, and she seems to see him and Jeyne talking together and she is smiling at him, nodding her head slightly; eagerly with encouragement. Daario wants to roll his eyes, but he glances to Jeyne again and can’t bring himself to.  

 

“I got it!” Dickon calls out when there is a knock on the locked front door. He peeks out through the glass and then unlocks the door, Arya and Gendry stepping inside.

 

Arya blinks at the scene of everyone there and then after pausing for only a moment, she walks towards the karaoke machine. Robb has the microphone in his hand, but still hasn’t chosen a song, and Arya takes the microphone from him.

 

“Hey,” Robb frowns at her.

 

Arya ignores him and exhales a deep sigh. “Everyone,” she speaks into the microphone, looking out at everyone in the bar that night – family and friends. She then looks to Gendry. “This is my boyfriend, Gendry,” she then makes the announcement, the faintest smile across her lips and Gendry smiling at her in return.

 

For a split second, there is silence.

 

“No shit!” Sansa is the one to call out and Arya stands there, scowling, as everyone starts cheering and laughing.

 

…

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading. I have loved everyone moment of this story and it means so much that so many of you have, too. Thank you!


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